Dwarf of Bronze
by Total Absolutism
Summary: According to Brimnir's Law of Opposition any magic formed from opposing elements is strengthened by the conflict between them. Thus, it has been tradition since time immemorial for the students of the Academy to perform the Summoning Ritual in pairs. Perhaps the Void has a sense of humour; for when the dust clears on the last joint summoning there stands a boy... and a dwarf.
1. Bronze and Summoning

Greetings, and welcome to Dwarf of Bronze. This is your author speaking. I don't normally do these but I feel the need to let people starting this story know a few things. Firstly; this is an unusual tale. The Stations of Canon, such as they are, have been well abandoned by the second arc of five (as of time of writing) and the plot has totally diverged from the original story. Guiche is the primary focus character, but he gets better. Louise is also still strongly involved in the plot since a lot of plot beats are related to her in various ways. Lastly, my writing has improved since I begun. I do hope you'll give the rest of the story a chance, and I promise this is the last you'll ever hear from me.

* * *

Brimir's Law of Opposition reads as follows; "All other things being equal, a power comprised of opposing elements will be greater than a power comprised of complementary elements."

The Line Magic of Ice, created by stacking Water and Air, is possible because the two elements flow together harmoniously. When working the Line Magic 'Sandblast', by stacking Earth and Air, one would usually have to be a Triangle Mage due to the difficulty of combining only oppositional elements. That difficulty would come out in the strength of the spell; an Oppositional spell will always defeat a Complementary spell of the same class.

It was this Law and the implications thereof that were giving Headmaster Osmond such a headache. Since the time of the Founder the tradition was for those performing a Familiar Summoning Ritual to do so in oppositional pairs. The magic worked against the opposing force and was greatly magnified; calling forth mighty creatures as a result.

His own familiar was no exception, regardless of what it currently looked like. The tiny creature scurried up the side of his heavily-reinforced desk which, nevertheless, creaked a little under the weight of the animal. When he held his hand out to it the ostensible mouse hopped right over and he barely felt the weight; one of the oddities of his beloved Familiar.

"What shall I do, Chuchu?" The tiny creature squeaked at him as he nodded sagely. His secretary placed a stack of papers on his desk while resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the old man's antics. "Ah, yes, I see… oho, very interesting! Yes, yes, white and plain, mm. Perhaps blue and lacy would be more inspiring…" A flush struck the woman's face as she glared at her employer. Terrible old lech.

"You ought to be focusing on the schedule for the Springtime Summoning, _sir_." She snapped at him before moving out of reach and clasping her legs together. Working in the perverted old loon's office was always an ordeal. "Since it's next week, and all." Ah, yes. Osmond stroked at his long beard thoughtfully.

They were fortunate to have a very balanced class this year. A few outliers could be dealt with using the third-year students who'd been unable to be placed last year; many of them could support two, or even three, oppositional bonds at the same time. However, he was faced with a serious issue.

Louise de La Vallière. Youngest daughter of Karin, the Heavy Wind. The girl was, supposedly, incapable of casting even the simplest magic without destroying things; that, at least, reassured both the Headmaster, and presumably her mother as well, that she belonged in the Academy. A commoner certainly couldn't even do that much.

Her element, however, was unknown. Many of the teachers had theories about it; most of which claimed the girl was any element but her own. The only report he put much stock in was that of Jean Colbert. His running theory on the girl, assembled mostly in his spare time, was that she was an Air mage. This was due to the lack of fires and burning that accompanied her spells; he likened them to the pressure blasts that could be conjured by more powerful Air spells. Osmond was inclined to agree with him as the logic fit even if something about it just felt off.

In spite of his thoughts on the matter, though, if she failed to perform the Summoning ritual… it was likely her mother would be obligated to recall her and simply marry her off. The student file said she was engaged to the Viscount Wardes of the Griffon Knights. Would he take a Noble wife who couldn't do magic? It was hard to say.

Best put her with the Gramont boy. If she was Air then it suited her to partner with him; besides which, his particular magic needed a stable hand and a stable sort of soul. As flighty as he was personality-wise his magic was steadfast. Hopefully that would allow both of them to do succeed.

It had begun, as things often did around the Zero, with an explosion.

Guiche had rather expected the explosion. He had not expected it would shear through the edge of her circle and into his as well. The entire debacle had proved most vexing! Vallière had made him look like a fool in front of a great many young ladies he either had once been, was or might soon be courting.

The whole day had been going _so_ well, too. Kirche and his dear Montmorency had a little earlier and received practically matching familiars; the Germanian girl had called forth a rather large fire salamander while sweet Montmorency had acquired a slick-skinned amphibian of similar stature that she was quite ecstatic over. Especially as one of the other girls he'd been eying had said something uncharitable while poking said familiar and then collapsed into a frothing heap as the curious toxins in her familiar's skin took hold.

His entire line of thought was abandoned as soon as he saw what had come out of the circle. There was clear evidence of magic at work; that much was plain. He'd managed to distort the ground somehow by creating a shallow crater that stretched over towards Louise's circle as well. There within…

Guiche was startled. He was incensed. More than that, though, he was simply plain confused. The second reason for his confusion was the fact that there were two figures in the crater; meaning the Zero had successfully called forth a familiar as well. That paled in comparison to the first thing he noticed, however. Rather than a mighty war golem or some mythical stone giant or even some handsome subterranean creature it appeared that he had called forth…

Well, there were two choices before him. The squat, hunchbacked creature with the thick, massively bushy red beard or the dazed looking young man laid out on the ground behind him. Both seemed to be human… or at least he thought the smaller one was.

"Kto, chert voz'mi?" Gah! And the small one spoke! What a brusque creature it was; waving an armoured hand at him and demanding… something, obviously. Perhaps it was a gnome or some such creature? Although it looked a fair ways too large for that.

"Anata wa, shōnen o hanasu nodesu ka?" And again! This time the thing stamped its foot and stepped closer to him. One hand was clutching something underneath its heavy cloak while the other gesticulated furiously. With each motion the many small stone beads woven into its massive beard clacked against each other.

"Haben keiner von euch Void-verlassenen Idioten wissen, wie sie zu sprechen!" Someone in the crowd gasped loudly at that. No, it was multiple people. One of the words in there was one even Guiche recognized. A tall, busty girl with dark skin, fair and magnificent Kirche, pushed her way through the crowd.

"I recognize that! I mean; Ja, ich spreche Germanischen." The short being had started at the sight of her, and once again when she began to speak. Rather than being put at ease by the sudden break in the communication barrier his eyes narrowed and he grasped at the handle on his belt more firmly. Guiche couldn't see what kind of weapon it was.

"Germanischen? Habe nie davon gehört. Ich spreche Zwergen, Meriadan, Stalisinian, Kagati, Nord und West Azekara und zu meiner Schande, Zunali." Kirche was lost for words at that sudden and undecipherable declaration. She glanced over at Professer Colbert; he was equally concerned but gestured for her to continue.

Amidst the silence and confusion of their peers Kirche attempted to commune further with the strange person who'd come to be standing in the circle. A number of thick and guttural exclamations flew back and forth but at least the thing had ceased to hold such a heavy grip on whatever weapon it was concealing. After some time she nodded absently and turned to look at the Professor and Guiche both.

"He says his name is Kenneth Manson, of… somewhere called 'Kelicho'. He wants to know where he is, and which idiot called him through…" She blanched somewhat at the choice of words she was now having to repeat. "The Void." A quiet, startled titter went through the gathered students as Colbert looked at Guiche de Gramont.

Apparently the entity took that as confirmation. He stormed up to the edge of the crater and jabbed Guiche in the chest with one stubby finger; and hard. Which was quite difficult given it was barely over a metre thirty in height.

"Oh~?" Not the novelty of the situation was wearing off and the implications were setting in Kirche leaned over to smile at the young Earth Mage. "It seems that your _Familiar_ isn't too happy with the arrangement, Guiche de Gramont." Before he could protest another, almost forgotten, voice rang out.

"Professor Colbert, you must let us try again! This has to be a mistake!" It was the Vallière who spoke up now. She had descended into the crater to examine the other young man. He was quite a sight; his surprisingly nice clothes severely dirtied as he lay there face-down. Even if Guiche's Familiar, for what else would one summon in this holy ritual, was a squat, misshapen creature it was still better than what was obviously no better than a mere peasant.

"How appropriate! Not only does Louise call forth a commoner as _her_ familiar, but she messes up Guiche's calling as well. Professor, you might at least let him go again; it's not his fault he was paired with the Zero." The laughter stung at Guiche as well for some reason. He looked down once more at the short man… person… thing that had suddenly stopped accosting him.

"Aye, lass. Seems he called me. Are ye sayin' something 'bout tha'?" Everyone froze once more. The words were low-toned, filled with a subtle menace, but most definitely Tristainian. Kirche turned to stare at the short being that had just spoken. His eyes seemed to glow with some inner light of fury that made her take a step back.

"Seems ye spake some bastard tongue tha' be kin o' Meriadan; an' ah kin deal wi'that. Also seems that ah were called here along wi' this boy fer some purpose." He strolled over to the crater and hoisted up the prone figure over his shoulder with no discernable effort. "If tha's t'be the case then ah'll take this'n fer medical care, if'n it please yer _Lordships_ , and then we kin discuss terms of employment like solid, reasonable folks."

Guiche did not like the sound of that.

* * *

Several hours had passed and Guiche liked the things he had heard since even less. The bastard thing was going to bleed him dry! That… Kenneth thing had taken the Zero's commoner to the infirmary along with Professer Colbert and he and the-... ah, he and _Louise_ had gone to argue their case to the Headmaster immediately.

It had not gone well.

The old man had finally agreed, under much sufferance, to let them both try again just once; in case there had been some error. He even drew the circles personally, with great amusement, and then calmly watched as their summonings failed to even explode. That was unusual for the Zero. Then he smiled an unpleasantly pleased smile at the both of them.

"And now, since we have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that the two in our infirmary must be your un-bonded familiars, let us go meet them." He had said that with far too much mirth in his voice. Then there had been the next issue.

Before this day Guiche had possessed a certain sense of kinship with Kirche. The Germanian woman set the blood of men afire as much as Guiche himself felt a flame in his heart for the many ladies of the world. Now he found himself hating the buxom girl with increasing passion with every passing moment.

She'd gone to the infirmary as well, ostensibly to help out the Professor. He didn't believe a word of it. After all; there she was conversing with the horrid little man in his native tongue. It seemed he was not a misshapen brute after all. That hunch in his back had simply been a massive pack and some rectangular, cloth-wrapped object he'd laid to one side. It felt heavy just to look at it. Putting that aside for the moment he looked at the current object of his ire

The evil thing had written up a _contract_.

Eight days off a month, plus two weeks illness _and_ bereavement leave a year; _**with pay**_. That was just the start of the insult being dealt to him. There was also some clause about how this 'Kenneth' character would, and he quoted to himself under his breath, "Protect him from non-lethal harm only if it was not brought about by his own foolishness". What did that even _mean_?

He read the whole thing, of course. Even though he was sometimes regarded as foolish Guiche was no idiot; particularly not when it came to matters such as these. His father's tales of incautious Nobles signing away their birthright by mistake had taught him at least that much caution. Which is how he came upon the many clauses allowing the being that would supposedly be his familiar to disobey him essentially as he pleased.

"This is beyond ridiculous. Your little scrap of paper is a sham! Why, you've written it up so that you can just ignore my commands on no more than a whim!" Professor Colbert shifted in place. He was leaning on his staff and quietly watching the proceedings but, on the whole, allowing them to continue as they would.

"Actually, Mister Gramont, the terms are more than reasonable; Ser Manson asked for my advice on them. You'd be best thinking of him as closer to a landless Knight than anything else. He simply seeks to ensure he will not betray his contract by refusing to violate his own virtues." Hmph. The brutish creature had even managed to get the staff on his side; no doubt preying on the Professor's better nature. He turned to Kirche instead.

"Bah! Enough of this charade. Bad enough that you're helping this… this… thing insult me such, Kirche, but why in the name of the Founder are you letting him do the same for the Zero's familiar?" At the sound of her nickname Louise flushed angrily but kept reading the fine print of her own, likely equally offensive, contract.

Maybe she would trade with him. The familiar she had didn't look like much with his soft cotton doublet, with pocket-heavy vest over top, and strange fingerless leather gauntlets. There was also a heavy red cloak that had been removed by the healer and was now hanging in the corner. But he had spoken to her politely and quietly, in a fairly deferential tone; he had kept his head bowed calmly and replied to her questions concisely in thickly accented Tristainian. So much better than the… the…

"Ach, shut yer gob-hole ye little shite. Trust me, yer getting ya monies' worth wi' that. Ah ought t'charge ye triple." Guiche's fists clenched so hard his fingers turned white; then even harder when he saw Louise accepting a quill from the boy.

"Zero, you can't be seriously agreeing to this… this farce! They are meant to be our familiars, not… retainers!" She looked up at him with a strange expression and then rolled her eyes with a loud huff. Perhaps she was simply glad to have a familiar in the first place. Then she suddenly donned a sickly sweet smile as she signed the paper.

"Perhaps you ought to have taken Hiraga here instead, Guiche the Vain. He may not be as exotic as your familiar but he possesses a number of talents that make him not only a useful servant but a perfectly serviceable familiar." He couldn't help but grind his teeth together as she finished signing both copies and then handed one to her new servant. The young man bowed deeply to her, folded the contract up and carefully placed it inside his vest.

The worst part was that she was right. Kenneth had explained to both of them that the young man's name was Saito Hiraga and that he was from a nation in the same land as himself; albeit a very different one. Apparently he had some skill at cooking and cleaning, among other similar menial tasks, although his contract probably excluded him from such duties much like Kenneth's.

Far more of interest was the explanation that his occupation at home was as a ranger; some sort of forester or woodsman or gamekeeper or something like that. As such he had training in recognizing plants and herbs, as well as practice with a bow and light blades. Not only could he probably serve as a serviceable bodyguard for the Zero he could also function as a porter and, most irritatingly, perform a number of tasks with far greater competency than a normal familiar could.

So instead of the polite and competent young man he was stuck with the thing that currently seemed to be telling Germanian jokes so dirty that they were making Kirche the Ardent blush. Not that she was in any way discouraging him from doing so with the way she was furiously scribbling them down in one of her class notebooks.

"By the Holy Founder… why couldn't I have gotten a nice, normal familiar instead of this… this!" He waved at Kenneth with a huffy pout. Worst of all, he was having to miss his planned evening rendezvous with that lovely first year to deal with this farce. However, it seemed that his mini-tantrums had finally gotten the attention of their cause.

"Boy." Something about the way that was said caused Guiche's spine to stiffen straight. His hand twitched out of the phantom desire to salute. It was like when his father said 'Son'; crisp, no-nonsense, military. "Seems y'think tha' my demands are a mite unreasonable. Well, too bad fer ye. Messir Colbert here tells me tha' _slavery_ is illegal in these parts, so ye **will** be paying me." Ah… well, of course-

"An', if ah understand correctly, the nature of this ritual is such that ye cannae even call up a new creature unless ah die. An' do ah have news for ye, boy-o; ah'm over three hundred years old an' no likely to die of aging any time before yer Kingdom falls, by my reckoning." Colbert twitched at that as well, his hands shifting on the staff he was carrying idly at his side as he looked in with interest. Kenneth ignored him. "If ye dinnae want my service ah'll just go to this Germania place an' become a mercenary. Doesn't sound like anythin' in these lands has the stones needed to off me, either, so ye can bet ah'll outlast ye."

The diabolical little bastard had him by the balls. But… even so… these demands… he wanted to be paid in pure gold! Even when he translated the cost in his head into coinage it still came out to a sum he could use to hire a half-dozen blades and have enough for a footman and a carriage. Possibly even a horse! Every month! It wasn't that the de Gramont's could not afford it, of course, but… every month?

Kenneth stood quite suddenly and grabbed Guiche by the front of the shirt. The young man found himself being carried over the dwarf's shoulder like a sack of flour. While this was certainly surprising, and the strength being displayed was impressive, he quickly set to beating the fiend about the back and shoulders. Not that it did much for him. The strangely textured armour that he was wearing was painfully hard against Guiche's soft fists and he couldn't retrieve his wand.

"What are you doing with me! Unhand me you… you heathen brute!" Kenneth just huffed and continued his calm march downstairs and out into the abandoned grounds. It was far too late for anyone to be around. Even so he didn't stop; calmly carrying the boy to a secluded spot by one of the walls and dumping him on the ground.

"How dare yo-" There was a steely ring in the air as Kenneth drew his weapon in one smooth motion and pressed the blunt topside of his axe to Guiche's throat. It was a horrible looking weapon; single blade on one side and pointed end on the other. Rather than the chill of metal he was expecting there was an unpleasant warmth to it.

"Boy." The voice was harsher even than before and quite suddenly the noble felt like a child. Before the tone had been more like his father when speaking to his sons. Reprimanding, yes, but at least attempting to be gentle. As it was now Guiche was put more in mind of the time he'd heard his father dressing down a subordinate for doing something exceptionally foolish.

After a moment the axe vanished under the cloak again as Kenneth sighed loudly. "Verrah well. Ah'll humor ye. This, boy, is th' reason ya should sign the contract." As Guiche watched Kenneth deliberately raised one of his feet. He noticed that, strangely, the heavy boots he wore lacked soles; there was just a strap around them holding them to the squat man's feet.

Kenneth's foot came down. Guiche stared.

* * *

 _I, Guiche de Gramont, Mage of Tristain, do swear upon the Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers in the name of Brimir the Founder, to accept Kenneth Manson, Dwarf of Kelicho, as my bonded familiar under the aforementioned conditions and agree to abide by them for as long as my life may last._

I, Kenneth Manson, once Son of Man, do swear upon

 _ **Aspiration-in-Providence**_ _, the Goddess Zazâni, to serve Guiche de Gramont, Mage of Tristain as his bonded partner under the aforementioned conditions and agree to abide by them for as long as his honour and the tyranny of time allows._

 **Signed, Sealed and Witnessed before the Eyes of God by Headmaster Osmond of the Tristania Academy of Mages.**


	2. Bronze and Being a Man

The first trouble had come before the sun even went down. Louise and her familiar were gone by the time they returned to the medical bay in order to retrieve Kenneth's items and sign the contract, which was a small relief. Even if he was agreeing to this foolishness Guiche certainly retained a number of misgivings.

At least the brutish dwarf had agreed to find his own lodgings. Having to share his room with something that smelled like _that_ would be just too much. It wasn't even especially offensive, as such. For some odd reason a thick scent much like cooked pork permeated the squat creature's clothing. Really, it was more distracting than anything and the smell just reminded Guiche that he'd missed dinner.

All he'd been able to do was get a plate of cold cuts, not-especially-fresh bread and cheese sent up to his room. He'd devoured it all anyway, grumbling at the indignity, and finally collapsed into his bed. The exhaustion of the day was such that he'd even forgotten to get changed and, as a result, was almost late for breakfast.

When he arrived at the Alviss Dining Hall he found that at least Kenneth wasn't visibly making a nuisance of himself. Louise the Zero was being a pain, however. Her familiar shadowed her in an irritatingly perfect manner; moving three steps behind her at all times. He was dressed impeccably, having apparently managed to find the time to transform his travelling cloak into a smart red long coat. Or, no, it looked like the hood simply folded out of the way somehow? A curious garment.

Still, he was the perfect servant. The Zero ignored his spiteful glares as her familiar smartly overtook her in order to pull her chair out for her and pushed her in once she was seated. He then took up a position at her side, just behind her, and seemed to be doing his best to act like a high-class butler as opposed to the lowborn lout he undoubtedly was. Many of those who would usually be snickering at her expense were instead flushed with jealousy that she had acquired such an efficient servant.

Guiche made it a point to finish quickly and then storm out as best he could while still looking fabulous in the process. It was important not to lose his composure. Equally important was finding what had happened to his familiar.

Of course, he shortly wished he hadn't. The foul little… well, calling him what he was, the _dwarf_ had apparently slept in the stables. Then he had presumably mucked out the stables in exchange for breakfast if the smell was anything to judge by. More galling, however, was the large wooden tankard he was currently clutching.

The demonstration last night had done very little to even Guiche's mood. If anything it just made him angrier. This Kenneth ought to act more… more… more majestically than that! Instead he was as common as muck. It was just unfair that the Zero's common familiar acted in a manner befitting a noble servant whereas his was sitting here with the help and… carousing!

The actual employees of the school dispersed hurriedly as they saw a noble approaching, likely so he couldn't identify them later, but Kenneth stayed firmly seated on a wooden stool. He was tearing at a loaf of bread in the one hand and washing it down with a thick mug of what had to be the lowest quality of beer; undoubtedly smuggled in for the servants to share when slacking off.

"You!" Guiche was further galled when Kenneth just waved happily at him. "Why are you drinking alcohol at this time of day! Have you no shame?" His answer came in the form of a drawn-out burp followed by the dwarf tearing off another chunk of bread.

"'sh r'ght." Quite suddenly Guiche found himself thankful beyond belief when his familiar swallowed before continuing. For a moment he'd feared the worst. "Lad, if ye didnae want me t'drink ye should ha' put somethin' inna contract 'bout it. Anyhow; ah've nae been drunk since my wedding day, so ye dun have t'worry about me doin' somethin embarassin'."

That brought the young man up short. The way Kenneth so suddenly brought up the subject while just sitting there and casually drinking from his tankard… he hadn't even considered that… that he had… "Dinnae worry, lad." Guiche looked up, although not very far, into the amused, bearded face staring at him. "She'll be there when ah get back. Nae lass o' mine is so soppy as t'fall apart wi'out me. 'tain't yer fault, neither." He drained the cup in a single go and then dropped it on the ground before hopping off his stool.

"A'ight. Y'were lookin' for me. Gotta job, boy? 'cause if not, ah'll be takin' th' day off. Ah've got things t'arrange iffin ah'll be workin' for ye." If Guiche had been stopped short before he now felt as if he was moving in reverse.

"You have… things? What things?" There was a faint note of panic in the young man's voice that Kenneth obviously picked up on. His grin was quite visibly even through the tangled beard and his chuckles merited a clacking accompaniment from the beads therein.

"Relax, lad. Just gotta do some research, first off. Find out th' sort o' forgin' methods an' th' like y'have in this world." Guiche blinked a couple of times and furrowed his brow.

"You think that things will be different in whatever barbarian land you hail from? I assure you that Tristain is the very _height_ of progress. Our smiths are the grandest in the world." Again the dwarf chuckled, as if laughing at some private joke that Guiche was not being informed of.

"May be so, lad, but y'called me through th' Void isself. Ah'm willin' t'bet that things are a wee bit different in m'world as compared to this. Case in point?" He pointed upwards. Guiche stared blankly at the empty sky for a moment then glanced back down. Kenneth was smirking. "There ain't a ring up there. So, boy-o, trust me when ah say ah'm from much further away than yer thinkin'."

"Oh. Ah. Very well then." Guiche had no idea what the little person was on about and so he just let it be. "What sort of things will you be arranging, though?" Kenneth shook his head.

"Nae, lad, ye'll be arrangin' them for me. Ah'll be makin' a list o' what ah need for ye t'send away for. Gotta make me a few things. A ranged weapon, for starters. Be a bit hard t'defend ya if m'range o' attack is limited t'what ah can reach with me axe." For a horrible moment Guiche had a vision of the dwarf building some grand, wheeled ballista or catapult and riding it about the grounds. No, no… he wasn't quite that insane. Surely.

… surely.

"Very well, then. I shall leave it to you. Perhaps you might like to… to..." He couldn't very well say a lot of things he was thinking, so he settled for mumbling something about tidying up and then fled the scene. What was he thinking, accepting that… oh well. He still had to write to father and inform him of what had happened. To top it all off he had a terrible feeling that he'd forgotten something very important.

* * *

Perhaps that something had been that his first class was still with the Zero. Her familiar was nowhere to be seen during class; a small mercy in that, at least. Still, Guiche had _no_ idea how Miss Chevreuse hadn't heard of Louise but it lead to yet another devastated classroom. It had been just terrible; a disaster made all the worse by the reactions of the poor, panicked familiars.

It did let him have lunch in peace, at least. He was surrounded by the usual crowd of fellows but really wasn't feeling up to dealing with them today. Instead he swept over to one of the maids, who irritated him somewhat simply by reminding him of that _Hiraga_ , and told her to bring tea and cakes outside for him. Then he slunk around to his dear Montmorency and whispered sweetly for her to meet him outside for a private tea while the girls around her tittered delightfully.

There was a nice wrought-iron table in one of the courts and the flowers around were in bloom. He selected a rose and delicately picked it. When Montmorency arrived it was offered to her with a flourish.

"For you; though its fragrance cannot compare to yours." She blushed sweetly as he pulled out a chair for her and sat in his own. Ah, yes. This was just what he needed. He could recite sweet poetry to her and she would fawn over him and all of his cares could just melt away into the limpid pools of her eyes.

His good mood lasted through the delivery of tea and small cakes by the exotic maid and some time into the meal; right up until a familiar voice suddenly made him realize just what he had forgotten.

"Sir Guiche? Are you here?" Katie. Dear, sweet Katie. He had been meant to meet with her last night but with the Summoning and Kenneth and all of that chaos he had forgotten! But why was she… oh dear. The adorable young lady stepped into view of both him and Montmorency. "The maid said you… were…" Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the second blonde.

"Guiche." His sweet rose was speaking in a tone as icy as her stare. This did not bode well. "Who is this _wench_ I see before me, and why is she calling your name?" His mouth opened and closed like a dying fish as he tried to find the words to explain.

"Yes, Sir Guiche, I also wish to know who this _old hag_ I see before me is, and why you are having tea with her!" A vein bulged from Montmorency's forehead in a most unladylike fashion as Katie snarled an insult back at her. Oh dear.

" _Hag?_ " The shrill rising pitch of his dear rose's voice was a terrible omen. She stood with such force that the chair was flung down and turned on her heel. "Well, if you wish to associate with such _common_ flowers I shan't get in your way, Guiche the Pigheaded!" And she stormed off.

"Perhaps you cannot see the flowers for the garden, Guiche the Pig-faced! I never wish to lay eyes upon you again!" And then Katie was gone as well. For the first time in quite a while Guiche was struck dumb. His honeyed words had failed him and both his roses had fled. The one thing he could be grateful for was that he was not in the dining hall when it had happened.

A noise made him raise his head; hoping against hope that one of the ladies had decided to return. Instead it was just the maid, come to collect the plates. His blood boiled at the sight of the girl and he rose to his feet.

"You!" He stormed over and grabbed her wrist, yanking it upwards as she called out in pain. "You thoughtless commoner! Your idiocy has damaged the good name of two lovely young ladies and besmirched the honour of the House de Gramont!" She tried to stammer out some vapid excuse but he just raised his hand.

Only to find it caught in a crushingly strong grip.

"Let 'er go, boy." Kenneth Manson was standing beside him and holding Guiche's wrist with his left hand. The pressure being exerted would be enough to bring him to his knees if he weren't being held up. Weakly, Guiche opened his other hand and released the maid. Kenneth glanced at her. "Off y'go, lass. Me an' th' young master here need t'have a little… chat."

She fled at speed, leaving him alone in the secluded courtyard with the dwarf. Who still had yet to release Guiche. In fact, he squeezed harder and, in doing so, forced the young man on to his knees and even further down until their eyes were level. When Kenneth spoke he was using that low, dangerous tone once more.

"Boy… ah have killed men for lesser sins than th' one you were about t'commit." The young man's mouth once more did its best impression of a dead fish as he came to understand just how deadly serious his familiar was.

"B-but that maid, sh-" He was cut off by a knee impacting his stomach with great force. Kenneth finally released his wrist and stood aside so that Guiche could double over and shortly empty out the contents of his stomach on to the grass. Just as he finished a powerful kick caught him on the side and sent him spinning onto his back. The dwarf strolled over and in a single movement drew his weapon and reversed it; driving the spike on the back through the stone beside Guiche's head. It sank all the way in, and didn't crack.

"D'you know why ah agreed t'this arrangement, boy?" Weakly, Guiche shook his head. He was distinctly aware of the foul smell in the air and was suddenly quite glad at least hadn't landed on it. "That girl, the one tha' can speak Dwarvish or whatever it is that ye call it. She said that ye were the son of a General. Ah figured that meant y'would at least know somethin' about _honour_. Ah see ah was wrong."

When he tried to speak Kenneth stood on his stomach. Stamped, more like. All the air left his body and even when the rough foot was withdrawn, undoubtedly staining his clothes, he could only gasp for air. "Y'were the one who shat on th' good name o' those two young ladies, an' yer own! Nobody else! And then t'take out your anger on an innocent girl! Boy! Ah spit on yer name! Y'dinnae deserve it!" Shame filled Guiche's face as the dwarf tore into him.

"Hmph. Ah kin see y'realize th' error of your ways. Well, consider yerself lucky. If ah'd discovered ye instead o' that girl ah'd have tanned yer backside and marched ye afore those ladies wi' your britches 'bout yer knees t'apologize. As it stands, ah think ye've learned the lesson here." Kenneth reached out again and Guiche was quite startled when the dwarf hauled him to his feet instead of striking him. He took a moment to compose himself, along with a few deep breaths, and then bowed his head.

"You… are correct, Sir Dwarf. I have brought shame to my family name, and those girls. Please… how… what can I do to right this?" Kenneth just shrugged, but there was a measure of approval in his calm gaze. Even though he was looking up at his master Guiche still felt like he was the smaller one.

"Firstly, y'apologize an' beg for forgiveness. An' y'do it genuine like. No excuses. Admit yer mistake, say yer sorry for disrespectin' th' lasses, an' see if they'll forgive you. With any luck they may; but if they do not then ye will nae press the issue! D'ya get me, boy?" Guiche nodded; barely trusting his voice not to crack if he spoke again. At least his familiar seemed molified somewhat.

"Very well. Y'do that first an' foremost. After that y'can order my stuff; ah've got th' list for ya. An' then we'll see if there isn't a real man buried under all them frills an' perfume." Guiche did the only thing he could think to do; a gesture he'd often seen his father receive from various visitors. He saluted smartly, heels coming together. Inwardly he knew he must look a mess. Hair mussed, clothes dirtied from being kicked around and damp with terrified sweat. Still.. a man should conduct himself in a certain manner and that was what Guiche aspired to.

He marched off smartly to seek out Katie and Montmorency before classes began again. Hopefully he could retain some semblance of his dignity, and some scrap of his honour, through the earnestness of his apology to them.

* * *

 _... and his strength is certainly prodigious for he carries a slab of stone with him wherever he goes although he refuses to say why. I have tested his skills against my Valkyries and feel I can say with pride that they were able to withstand at least one blow from him; before he drew his axe, that is. On the whole, he is undoubtedly a fine familiar._

 _With that in mind, I have included a copy of the contract to which we have agreed. I think that, given what I have described, the terms are reasonable; in addition, he wishes for the following items to be procured and delivered to the school post-haste and has agreed for the cost to be taken out of his wages. I know not why he requires such things; save that he has claimed some measure of his gear did not come with him from his homeland and he must needs replace it._

 _One anvil of high grade; necessarily at least a half a metre by one third of a metre in area of its surface._

 _Some five hundred kiloweight of clay of any grade._

 _The following alchemical compounds…_

There was more in there, of course. Curious things. Amounts of ore in varying grades, a number of odd substances often used in the tanning process. Not very expensive, on the whole, and yet General Armand de Gramont eyed the list with confusion and more than a little suspicion as he checked the letter against some examples of his son's handwriting. Its authenticity could not be debated.

The contents, however, were concerning. Some of these compounds were used in the making of black powder, or so he thought. He may have to check that. It was not a great expense and if the prowess of this… 'dwarf' were accurate to the descriptions provided by his son then the price he was charging for his services was no great expense. He could afford a number of lesser guards at that rate, true, but the protection afforded his child may be worth it. However…

Armand knew that Guiche, of all his children, was a rather… romantic individual. This tale of calling a curious warrior from another land as his familiar rung a lot of ominous bells in his head. Had his son been taken in by some outlandish tale and agreed to assist this odd person in their endeavours? Perhaps it was so. He considered the matter further, drumming his fingers on his desk.

Finally he made up his mind and pulled a sheaf of parchment over to begin penning his letters. The first to a man he knew in the Capitol; instructions to ready the items and deliver them to the Academy. Second, to his son; informing him that the items would be delivered post-haste and congratulating him on his success. Third…

Yes. He would go and visit his son. It would be wise to inspect the investment he was making by agreeing to this contract. Also, he was curious as to what the person described intended to do with those items. If it turned out to be a trick, well… the boy had mentioned the youngest daughter of the La Vallière's had also acquired a similar familiar as well, had he not?

He smiled as he wrote the name on the third letter and pressed his signet ring into the hot wax of the seal. Yes. If they turned out to be scamming Guiche and his classmate then they he'd leave it to Karin to tidy up.

She was very good at that.


	3. Bronze and Heroic Nature

"Ser Kenneth, I'm not sure I quite understand the point of continuing this exercise." Guiche shifted nervously as he looked over at where his familiar was standing. They were not in the school itself but, rather, had come out into the woods nearby once more. Yesterday there had been an abject demonstration of his familiar's fighting prowess when compared with his own Bronze Valkyries.

It had been humiliating. Kenneth had caved in the chest of the first one with a left straight, and then only drawn his axe because he'd simply decided that destroying them with his bare hands would be inefficient. Today, however, it was different. The dwarf's axe was sitting at his back, yes, but he was only holding on to it in case of bandits.

Instead he had put on a pair of steel gauntlets and was grinning maliciously.

"Weeeell, tha's simple, boy. Ah'm going t'show ye how to survive on the off-chance that ah'm nay available t'keep ya alive." Guiche nodded. He understood that much. Only… well, he'd managed to recreate a pair of valkyries at least. Kenneth had suggested he arm these ones with axes exclusively; that way his familiar could teach him some fighting techniques to use with them later. That wasn't the concern; he was more worried about the metal plate he had on.

"Yes, but I fail to see the point of _this_." He rapped his knuckles on the breastplate. It was smelly, and heavy, and even with the padded vest he'd been forced to put on as well it was rubbing in uncomfortable places. Kenneth had taken pity on him and not made him wear the helmet, or any of the other bits.

"Boy, where ah come from th' best warmages wear full plate armour. We gotta build up yer strength a bit. Th' attack squad idea 's a good one, ah'll grant, but th' best way to run it well'd be from in th' thick o' things. Which means armour!" It had never really occurred to Guiche that, if he were to go into battle, he'd have to get within a certain distance of the actual fighting to control his golems reliably before Kenneth had pointed it out to him. Now he was seriously reconsidering his specialty.

"Whene'er we train, ye'll wear tha'. Ah'll work out a proper diet plan an' such wi' th' help o' one of yer healers. Dun wanna o'er work ye." Guiche whimpered. The brute would ruin his perfect, handsome figure! Kenneth just rolled his eyes and kicked at the dirt a bit. "Dinnae be daft, ye idjit. Th' lasses love a strong man. An' asides from that…" He strolled over to his pile of stuff.

There was the cloth-wrapped stone tablet he always took with him everywhere, of course. The thing was massive and, judging by the sounds when Kenneth laid it down, incredibly heavy. He'd also brought a bag of food, thankfully, as well as something very strange. It looked like three flour sacks sewn together. The dwarf hucked it up and tossed it over at Guiche's feet where it landed with an unceremonious thump.

"Pick tha' up." He stared at it instead. What on Halkegenia? Kenneth sighed. "Y'wanna be a hero, kid. Well tha's yer damsel." Guiche stared a bit more. Truly, there was a crude face on one of the sacks. He'd managed to attach a straw wig to that end as well. "C'mon. Pick 'er up. Best way'd be o'er yer shoulder, but y'won't be doin tha', will ye?"

After a final moment's hesitation Guiche bent down and picked up the 'damsel'. Or attempted to, at least. The blasted thing was just so heavy! Surely his beloved Montmorency didn't weigh nearly so much as this? In fact, he said as much to his trainer. "No' yet, boy. But she'll be an adult one day, an' so will many o' th' damsels ye'll be rescuin' in yer life."

Guiche nodded solemnly and tried again. Then again. Once more, even! He really was doing his best but the sacks were just too heavy. He could barely get one end off the ground. The damnable armour was a problem as well. Kenneth nodded a few times.

"A'ight. Tha's enough. Y'cannae do it, an' tha's fine. Yer just a boy, still. Dinnae worry, lad, ah aim t'change that. C'mon, let's getcha armour off. Ah'll need t'adjust m'plans. We'll work on yer valkyries t'day instead." Guiche breathed a sigh of relief as his familiar helped him pull the breastplate and smelly padding off himself. It was bundled up with the rest of Kenneth's stuff as he started to guide Guiche through a few light stretches and exercises to help his muscles relax from the strain.

"Ah… Ser Manson-" His familiar shot him a Look again and he swallowed hard. "Uh… that is to say… Ser Kenneth. Might I ask what you had planned for me today before you changed your mind?" Part of him knew he would deeply regret asking but, even so, he just had to know. The dwarf's answering grin was dripping with malicious glee.

"Ah was gonna have y'run away from me with yer damsel, boy. An' if ah caught up with ye, ah was gonna bury me foot in yer tacklebox." The young mage's brow furrowed. They hadn't brought any fishing geeaaaaooooh. Ooh. That was _evil_.

"Ser Kenneth! You wouldn't really have done it though, right? It's just meant to motivate me. Right?" He looked helplessly into the thickly bearded face of the madman he was trusting to teach him. "... right?"

Kenneth just laughed.

* * *

All of this had come about as a result of his foolishness the day after the Summoning, and his desperate attempts the next to apologize. Katie had forgiven him… sort of. Rather, she had said he was forgiven but she still desired never to see or speak to him again. He'd made his apology to Montmorency twice as heartfelt after that.

The dirty footprints on his lovely white shirt may have had some impact on her decision as she asked what had happened after she left. He'd explained about Kenneth, well, kicking the crap out of him; almost literally, in fact, and sworn his regret and shame to the heavens.

She'd forgiven him. Eventually. After letting him wax poetic on her perfection and how truly sorry he was for a few minutes. Ten at the most. After which she had magnanimously agreed to give him a second chance. If he screwed up again…

But it was so hard! All these beauties around for him to appreciate. The school was simply rife with temptation in the form of so many charming young ladies. It was quite difficult to keep his composure. Which was why, the next day, he had asked his familiar what he knew about being a soldier.

Very little, as it turned out. Kenneth wasn't a leader of men, or dwarves, even though it sounded like they'd probably follow him regardless. He was a wandering rogue. An adventurer, he called it, although his stories painted a very different light. His familiar was a _hero_. Even if he didn't quite see it like that himself.

So he'd foolishly asked his familiar to teach him about how to be an adventurer. Or, as Kenneth kept teasing him, a hero. He didn't mind the terminology, nor did he make any comments about what Guiche felt might be a somewhat naive choice in the long run. Not being criticized for his romanticism was… it was nice, really.

"Right. Tha's enough o' that fer t'day." Guiche hit the forest floor; panting and sweaty. Kenneth looked very amused. The dwarf was wearing some sort of studded leather and he still wasn't as bad off as his master. Ugh, and his shirt would just be absolutely ruined. "Ye'll be repeatin' this e'ry morn if ye wanna get proper strong, boy."

'This' had been a series of push-ups, sit-ups, squats, strange jumping things and all sorts of other exercises that Guiche could still feel screaming in his muscles. "When ah get th' stuff y'sent away for ah'll make ye a proper set o' weights, as well." His muscles screamed in anticipation. Oh, the joy.

"Ser… Kenneth… it… it is only… barely midday…" The dwarf nodded and tossed something at him. It appeared to be a wrapped package. A few long moments of deliberation passed before Guiche pulled himself upright and shuffled over to lean against the nearest tree. The shirt was already ruined anyway.

There was food inside the package and Guiche tore into it with a ravenous fury he'd never before experienced. Until that very second he had no idea how damn hungry he was. Part of him cared that it wasn't a delicate garden salad with fine bread and cheese. The rest of him was wolfing down cold cuts like they'd vanish in an instant if he didn't.

Only once every last morsel was firmly in his stomach did Guiche realize that his lunch was about twice the size of his familiar's. At which point he became fully cognizant of precisely how much food he'd actually eaten, going by the bones. Kenneth was still consuming a leg of chicken; crushing the bones between his teeth and eating the lot, by the sounds of it.

Being somewhat more polite than his familiar he at least waited for the dwarf to finish before starting conversation again. Coincidentally, it gives him some time to recover from the burning pain suffusing all of his muscles.

"Ser Kenneth?" The dwarf looked up over at him. He'd finished his food and had cracked open a small cask of ale; only about the size of his head. "I am somewhat _concerned_ about the size of my portions. Are you sure that's… correct?" Saying that he was worried about his figure probably wouldn't get a great reaction from the familiar.

"Aye. Y'need t'put on weight if yer gonna bulk ' pudgy fellow yer class would have an easier time getting muscular than ye would righ' now." What? Malicorne the Blow-hard, a grander hero than he? Ridiculous. "Yer body converts fat t'muscle. Y'body is too lean righ' now, so ye'll be eatin' more." Oh. He didn't know that. Well, of course he didn't; he wasn't a healer, after all.

"Come on, finish up an' we'll head back. Ah've got some stuff about yer valkyries t'go over." Guiche held out his empty lunch box and Kenneth nodded with approval. He cleaned up the cask of ale in a single pull and then laid it down as he packed up the stuff. His tablet was slung back over his back with Guiche noting his feet sank into the ground for a brief moment before he got the balance right.

They strolled outwards from their practice ground shortly after; passing through the devastated area that had been the site of their 'battle' yesterday. Not much of a fight. Kenneth had done more damage to the trees than Guiche had done to his familiar; which was mostly due to him striking through them to hit Valkyries. Thankfully he'd been able to pull off a basic water magic to douse the flames that had resulted.

Guiche could say this much; the effort he had to expend so consistently to clean up after the dwarf would certainly see him to Line rank shortly. His sleep had been very sound as of late due to the massive amounts of willpower he was using on a daily basis. Perhaps that was also like a muscle? Would using it strengthen it? A curiosity to consider further.

As they came out of the forest on to the path, having tied up their borrowed horse a small way into the forest, they encountered another pair of people heading the opposite direction they'd been intending to go. Louise de la Vallière was seated on a horse behind her bemused familiar; who was quite startled to see the pair of them coming out. Especially given how sorry Guiche looked.

"Ah, what is it, Saito?" The pink-haired girl poked her head out from around her familiar. Her expression was slightly green and Guiche could guess why; the horse was one of the larger ones from the stables and it had come to a skidding halt as her familiar reined it in. He must have been going quite fast.

"It is Guiche de Gramont and Kenneth Flamecutter, Lady Vallière." Guiche shot a look at his familiar at the counterpart's explanation. It was certainly an odd epithet to add. He often forgot that his familiar was, apparently, famous in his homeland.

"Oh, so it is." She peered around Saito at the two of them, taking in Guiche's frightful state with no small hint of amusement. "You look quite a mess, de Gramont. Having fun playing in the woods? It must be so nice to have such a leisurely life…" The nobleman bristled at the insult, but Kenneth just chuckled and pulled their horses out of the undergrowth.

"Aye, 'tis a blessin', indeed. Y'off to town there, Saito of Hiraga?" The young man nodded; happy to converse with his fellow familiar; although he did have one minor correction to add, it seemed.

"It is just so, Flamecutter; although I am, as well you know, Saito of Vallière now. I doubt the Lord of Hiraga would allow me to return to his service in the future." Guiche was confused by the entire conversation, and Louise seemed a little embarrassed, but Kenneth nodded approvingly.

"She treatin' you right, boy?" What a thing to ask! In front of two other nobles, no less. Surely no commoner worth their pay would ever answer such a foolish question. Then again, the two foreigners seemed to have strange customs.

"Yessir, she is a high quality master. I have made numerous presumptions for which Lord Hiraga would have likely had me punished severely, but even when I fetched the horsewhip for her she declined to give me any lashes." The Zero turned bright red and muttered something under her breath that Guiche didn't quite pick up on. His dwarf just seemed even more pleased.

"Very good. Ah'm glad yer treatin' him right, lass. Tha' boy's a proper Kagati Woodsman; he'll do right by ye." She nodded faintly, hiding behind her familiar. Saito straightened up and pulled the horse straight with the reins.

"We ought to hurry, m'lady. Our pace is good, but the stores may not be open much longer." A certain curiosity arose in Guiche and he couldn't help but ask.

"What are you aiming to buy in town, Vallière?" There was a moment as she eyed him as if debating whether or not to say anything. But, shortly, she relented.

"If you must know, Saito does not have a bow. I aim to purchase one for him." Kenneth clicked his tongue in a fashion that could only denote disapproval. The way he rolled his eyes was also somewhat of a hint.

"Bah. Y'willnae get a good enough one fer him in this place. C'mon, Guiche, up y'go." Said noble was quite surprised when he was hauled up by his ankles and deposited firmly on his horse. Kenneth didn't have one. His stone was too heavy and he was quite capable of keeping up anyway. His maximum speed certainly wasn't equal to a proper gallop, or even a sprint from a horse, but he could certainly keep it up for some time.

"We'll go with ye. If ye'll foot th' bill fer th' materials ah don't mind makin' a proper Dwarven bow for ya, an' ah kin help y'pick out some good quality tools for him." Louise seemed confused by the offer but Saito was certainly eager. He perked up immediately and turned to look at her. They began a hushed discussion as Guiche leaned over and glared at his familiar.

"I thought we were returning to the Academy to continue _my_ training," he hissed down at the dwarf. Certainly, that was what he'd thought. Wasting time on the Zero and her familiar meant less time for him!

"This 's worthwhile. Yer gonna need a sparring partner closer t'yer skill level than me if y'gonna make any progress. Besides, a true hero 's selfless, boy." He blanched at the gentle yet firm rebuttal and weakly nodded his head. Right. They'd had a… discussion about the treatment of others. Especially the… ah… Louise.

"Very well; I would welcome your help. I don't know much about weaponry, and neither does Saito." Guiche bowed as gracefully as he could while on horseback, and then they set off. Louise's horse was faster than his, but Saito reined it in. Kenneth kept up, somehow, by just calmly and firmly jogging along with them. He was much like a golem, in many ways.

* * *

The guards must have thought they looked a sight when they reached the gates of Tristain a few hours later. Louise's appearance was reasonable enough but Guiche knew he was a frightful mess, and Kenneth was… Kenneth.

Still, they were allowed in and warned not to dally too long if they wanted to return to their Academy before nightfall. Kenneth was the one who queried the guard as to the location of a decent equipment store, as well as a bowyer, and soon they were inside the store.

Although the proprietor gave Guiche a confused glance and Kenneth a suspicious glare he quickly rallied as Louise entered with Saito close behind. That rankled heavily at his sensibilities; to be derided as if he were a mere commoner. Harumph.

"Ah, a student of the academy. I regret to inform you that I do not sell sword-wands, it's not my trade, but perhaps I have something here that might suit your servant? A young noblewoman such as yourself ought to have firm protection at hand with the troubles going on." Louise preened, Guiche fumed, and Saito frowned.

"Troubles?" He moved further into the store and examined the daggers with a critical eye; picking one up and shifting it in his hand. Guiche wondered just what he was doing.

"Yessir, we've had a spate of nasty murders lately. After dark, thankfully, but there's talk of a curfew and more besides; but I think it shan't come to that." The elderly store-owner looked from side to side and then leaned in to carry on with a conspiratorial faux-whisper. "I have heard that the victims were all common criminals, mi'lady, and that they may have been slain with magic. Perhaps some fine, upstanding noble has taken it upon themselves to clean up our fair Tristain!"

Now this, Guiche considered, was a man who showed proper respect to his betters. If only his own familiar was a little more… well, perhaps not. A deferential Kenneth would feel… off. He just couldn't picture it.

"I've no care for your gossip; rather, I'm looking for a weapon for my guard to use." Louise folded her arms in a way that she likely thought was imperious but just put Guiche in mind of one of his young cousins demanding a second helping of cake.

It seemed to work, though. The old man brought out the finest blade that he had ever laid eyes upon. He laid it reverentially on the counter and began to extol its many virtues; the reinforced hand-guard, the exquisitely honed edge with the many runes denoting the infused magic, an alchemically-created alloy that shone like gold and was stronger than steel. Truly an exquisite weapon worthy of a noble servant.

"What a load o' shite. Even if ah deigned t'wipe me arse wi' tha' thing it still prob'ly wouldn' cut me." Guiche was appropriately mortified by the absolute temerity of his familiar, and the store owner turned a colour reminiscent of boiled beets.

"I would thank you not to impugn the quality of my wares! And what, pray, would you know o-" He didn't get to finish his thought. Kenneth had drawn his own weapon. It was the first time Guiche could really get a good look. During his first encounter it had been pressed too close to his neck to take it in. His vision had been somewhat blurry during the second encounter. As for the third, he'd been far too busy trying to dodge the flying fragments of his Valkyries.

It was beautiful. The haft was engraved with runes that shone in the light of the oil lamp. In fact, the metal itself seemed to glow faintly; it was a deep, reddish colour unlike any metal that Guiche had ever seen before. There was an engraving upon the pommel of a snarling wolf, teeth bared in preparation to strike.

More spectacular was the edge of the axe-blade itself. If the metal seemed to shine from within that part actually glowed with warmth; Guiche could feel it from where he stood. The store owner was totally silent as he took it in. What had previously seen so fine a sword looked shoddy by comparison.

"This 'ere 's th' finest work o' th' finest smith in all o' Kelicho; 's name is Redfang, which is to say 'tis the Fang of Red the Iron Wolf. Me beloved wife, an' a woman without peer. Ah killed the creatures whose bones she melted down to make it an' presented her their skulls as an engagement present." Guiche shuddered to think what sort of creature had the kind of bones that might make that.

"Yer sword there's pretty, ah'll grant ye tha'. 't'ain't no weapon, though. Whereas ah'd wager on my Fang here 'gainst any piece o' metal in this shop. E'en the anvil." The way the glowing edge seemed to hiss and die down as he put the axe away made Guiche feel he was firmly in agreement with that.

"I prefer knuckle daggers, in any case. You don't seem to have any here." Saito laid two long, thin knives on the counter along with a dozen smaller ones. "I will, however, take these; the balance is good on them. Is that alright, Louise?" The old man recovered as she stammered her assent to the purchase, and made a quick calculation.

"Yes, yes, that's… quite." He stuck the fancy fake under the counter, after having re-wrapped it in velvet, and finished his tally. "Those will be…" For a moment he eyed Kenneth. "Ah… twelve in new gold for each of the two long blades, and… five ecu for the small." Louise did similar calculations and counted out the coins. He counted out some change for her, due to the exchange rate between the new gold and the ecu, and Saito set about sliding the daggers into pockets in his vest.

"Hey! You're really married to the person who made that axe?" An unfamiliar voice, deep and male, rang out from behind Guiche somewhere. Kenneth quickly spun around but the room was empty of anyone else. Except that the voice rang out again, "You think you could bring it out again? I didn't get quite a good enough look at it! What a beauty!"

The shopkeeper's eyes bugged out of his head; partially due to the tone of the voice and partially due to the very impolite whistle that followed the words. He dashed over to a basket of rusty swords and yanked one out of it.

"What have I told you about harassing the customers!" A scabbard was quickly seized and the protesting sword shoved into it. The old man looked at them with a touch of red on his cheeks. "Ah, I apologize, noble sirs… it is an unruly item I came into possession of due to a disreputable trader and isn't worth your time." It seemed that Kenneth, grinning from ear to ear, thought differently.

"Guiche." His head jerkd up and took in the expression on the dwarf's face with growing horror. "Buy tha' sword." Everyone in the room, even the amazingly unflappable Saito, was dumbfounded by the dwarf's declaration.

"B-but, good sir, I assure you that it is a terrible trinket possessed of an unhealthy temperament and a disrespectful disposition!" Guiche couldn't help but agree, given that it had seemed to be lusting over Kenneth's own prized weapon; perhaps even his wife. What a strange personality for a sword to have, of all things.

"Bah. 's a magic sword. Either 'tis a mighty weapon an' might help out me young master there, or else 'tis a cursed object an' is thus better off in th' care o' someone who knows how t'dispose of it properly." For a moment the old man gained an agonized expression; and he then pressed the sheathed blade into Kenneth's hands.

"Very well, you may have it; please, take it far away from my store. There is no need to consider payment in this case." Ah, a firm bargain! But Guiche felt that it wouldn't last and was therefore unsurprised when his familiar disagreed once more.

"Ah cannae defraud ye so; but ah may have a solution. This smithy were recommended t'me on m'way into town, an' ah reckon ye get quite a few o' those." The man nodded cautiously. "Now, ah'm nay a smith onna same tier as me wife, but ah'm still a dwarf through 'n' through. E'rryone knows tha' y'cannae beat Dwarven craftsmanship… wi' only a very few minor exceptions." Guiche had to wonder where he was going with this.

"Soon enough ah'll have an anvil o' me own back a' the academy. If yer willin' t'sell th'stuff ah make then ah think a ten percent commission sounds fair." Obviously thinking of the short man's glorious axe a shrewd expression graced the salesman's face.

A veritable duel of haggling ensued. The store owner, whose name Guiche finally learned was Nikolas, countered with a market rate of forty percent. Kenneth's counterpoint was based on the reputation that could be gained from the quality of his wares. Nikolas offered to arrange cheap material deals. Kenneth cited a prior arrangement with General Gramont. Nikolas suggested the value of his connections ought to bring a premium. Kenneth implied his potential military contracts might be preferable.

In the end they settled on a sixty-forty split of the proceeds, in Kenneth's favour, _after_ the cost of the materials. Then, obviously with high spirits, they passed by the bowyers on the way out of the city and Louise purchased a few varieties of wood on the recommendations of both Saito and Kenneth with which the latter would make a bow for the former.

They made their way back to the Academy in good spirits overall. Guiche had never considered the potential for _investing_ in his own familiar. If Kenneth's wares were of good quality then he could purchase materials for the familiar to make into weapons with his own stipend, and perhaps share the proceeds. He might double, or even triple, the money his father gave him! With proper re-investment and a decent labour rate he may be able to afford to fund Kenneth's wages all on his own as well.

* * *

Whatever cheer they had remaining died firmly and ignobly shortly after they passed through the gates. A carriage was parked near the entrance that bore the insignia of House Gramont; with it was a wagon loaded high with the many items that Guiche had asked for. That was not, in and of itself, a concern.

The thing that caused both Louise and Guiche to tremble in their boots, albeit for _slightly_ different reasons, were the three adults waiting in the main courtyard for them. Firstly was the Headmaster, who looked rather put-upon. Likely due to the other two; one of which appeared in many ways to be an older, rather more in-shape version of Guiche himself.

However; that concern paled in comparison to the woman. It was like someone had taken Louise's general appearance and reassembled it on the frame of one of his Valkyries. The end result was steel personified standing there and looking coldly at the two of them.

"Ah, son. You have finally returned. We were about to send out search parties." Guiche bowed his head automatically as his father spoke, the distant tone recalling many painful memories. There was no derision in there, nor anger; just the subtle tones of faint disappointment. Louise was in a similar state to him, he noted; unable to meet the gaze of the pink-haired demon that must be her own mother.

"Louise." The girl beside him trembled slightly, but slowly looked up regardless. Guiche did not; he did not wish to see the expressions levelled at them right now. "I should very much like to know why you are returning to the Academy at this time of night in the company of two commoners, and a mere Dot mage." There was a rustle of motion. "No offence meant to your line, General." The sound of a graciously inclined head.

"None taken; it was something I wondered as well, though perhaps I can answer. It is likely that Guiche trusted in his new familiar to keep them safe. Given his current state, I find myself questioning the wisdom of that decision." He wanted to speak up. Exclaim that he looked like this due to his own effort, not the predations of wild animals or bandits. Yet… and yet… his father didn't even sound insulted. Surely he ought to rebut the claim that his son couldn't protect himself?

"Zazâni's boun'iful tits, yer an unpleasant pair." For a moment, Guiche thought that maybe his heart had ceased to beat at the sight of his father and he was thus in the depths of Hell at that very second. Because the alternative was that his familiar had just sworn at his father _and_ **Karin de la Vallière**.

He dared to look up. Although the expression of the Heavy Wind hadn't changed Lord Gramont's left eyebrow was half-raised. His father turned away from his familiar and looked directly at Guiche, who shrank under the gaze.

"I cannot say I am surprised, son." He waved a gloved hand vaguely as he spoke. "It seems your romanticism has gotten the best of you once again. I've no idea what story you span for my son, but I assure you that I do not take insults to my family lightly; which, given the condition of my son, I think you may very well have given. It seems you have overstated your skills." Oh, by the Founder; this could not end well.

"Th' state th' boy 's in is _because_ o' me, not in spite of. Ah spent th' whole mornin' whippin' him into shape. If 'e wants t'be a proper hero then there's a long way to go." Guiche winced as his father's eyebrow raised higher. That was not the right thing to say.

"I will thank you to not feed into my son's delusions any further. He is to be a _soldier_ , and a commander of men; a path that does not require him indulging in such flights of fancy." Karin stepped forward and ignored both man and boy alike.

"I have come to evaluate your 'familiar', Louise, and ensure that he a servant appropriate to the name of Vallière. However; it is late now. Any further discussions can wait until morning." General Gramont nodded, and turned on his heel without any further word. Karin gestured at her daughter. "To your dormitory, young lady; and I should like your servant to escort me to the guest wing. I have some questions for him." Louise nodded weakly, and Saito moved forward and bowed smartly to the mother of his master.

"If you would be so gracious as to follow me, my Lady." Much to Guiche, and likely Louise's, surprise Karin nodded to the young man with a faint smile. At the very least his manner was one she approved of. The two students stood there as their parents left; one alone, the other in the company of her daughter's familiar.

"... ah. Well, given the circumstances, there's no need for any punishment. However, in future, I would ask that the both of you ensure one of the staff knows where you have gone before any long outings, hm? Off to bed with you both; I shall ask for dinner to be sent up to you." Louise nodded and wandered off in a daze as Old Osmond himself moved away muttering about being grilled by the Heavy Wind for an hour straight.

"... Kenneth?"

"Aye, boy?"

"Please don't hurt my father."

"... ah shall think 'bout it."


	4. Bronze and Expectations

One thing that Guiche had quickly learned about his familiar was that his mere presence caused chaotic surprises in multitudes. On this morning he was to be met with one of them. The youngest son of House de Gramont had awoken earlier than usual as the mere presence of his father in the academy caused a certain restlessness.

It was difficult to quantify how he felt about his father. Which is why he did something that might have otherwise been unwise; he sought out Louise de la Vallière. Sneaking into the girl's dormitories wasn't difficult and he wasn't surprised when knocking on her door shortly revealed a disappointed-looking but fully dressed Louise.

She let him in without asking why he was there and closed the door behind him. There was nobody else around, although the place looked… actually, much cleaner than Guiche's room. Was that dresser freshly waxed? And, by the Founder, the floors practically shone.

"You know, Guiche, if you're here for some indecent reason you ought to know that Montmorency was suggesting she might castrate you if you were unfaithful again." His crotch twinged with phantom pains at hearing such a cruel statement but he persevered with grand resolve! Which is to say, he flopped with his back to a wall and sighed deeply.

"No fear, Miss Vallière. Good Ser Kenneth has informed me that his treatment of me will be no less kind than that should I think to act so ignobly again." She nodded, relaxing somewhat, and sat down on her bed. The two of them regarded each other glumly for a long, long time until, finally, Guiche broke the silence.

"... when I was seven my father snapped my toy sword, and had me start fencing lessons instead." There! He'd started them off. They both knew, really, why he'd come. Neither one of them had ever considered the other's situation until they'd been confronted with the reality of their parents.

"... mother's hired over a dozen private tutors for me since I started blowing things up." Guiche nodded sadly. They all made fun of her for that. It felt… wrong, now. He wasn't sure why. The effort she put in was obvious with how far ahead of him she was in their theory work, so perhaps that was it. She tried so much harder than him and wasn't even a Dot mage.

"When I was twelve he sold all my books of poetry and replaced them with campaign diaries. He'd quiz me on them over dinner." Louise shook her head. He imagined that she'd never really thought of him as having any sort of difficulty with his family, either. Why would he? He knew magic.

"She tried to make me ride a manticore last summer." They stared at each other for a long moment. Then the laughter began. They couldn't help it; even if it might give them away. It was just so ridiculous that they couldn't stand it.

"Father just… I think he expects me to be a General as well. My eldest brother is in the military, of course, but Adrien married a minor Germanian noblewoman instead and I suspect Francisque would rather be a painter than a soldier…" Louise nodded. He didn't talk about his family much, or at all, so he doubted she'd known any of those things.

"I think mother is just afraid for my future. Éléonore is willful, and unlikely to get married; Cattelya is quite sickly, and I'm… a Zero. She's accomplished so much, and she truly believes we can as well…" Guiche nodded in return. Of course… there may be a fear for the family line, as well, but it seemed more like a simple fear of Louise ending up unmarriageable.

"It's the opposite, for me. Maximilien is looking to be next in line for Captainship of the Dragon Knights, and is likely to purchase his commission soon, as well. He'll likely make General even younger than father did…" His brother was superior to him in every way, and his father saw him as nothing more than an idle dreamer.

"You know…" He began

"I'd just…" She continued.

"Give anything to trade with you." They finished in unison, staring blankly at each other in mute incomprehension for what felt like an age. Louise broke the silence, pointing violently at him as she did so.

"Y-you! But it must be nice, not having that pressure on you, surely?" He responded in kind, bursting to his feet with his eyes wide.

"What is that? And how is it having a parent that actually believes in your potential, eh?" The two of them glared at each other with sparks of rage flying until, quite suddenly, the absolute ridiculousness of the situation.

"To think, a day when I'd be envious of Guiche the Inconstant." He placed a hand on his chest and staggered back in mock pain. Oh, how she wounded him.

"I could say the same; in what world is it fair that I envy Louise the Volatile?" Further laughter ensued until they finally both managed to settle and stand up with equally cheeky grins on their faces. "That familiar of yours seems good for your temperament, Louise." She rolled her eyes.

"Yours seems to have given you a sense of humor, Guiche." No insults. Just an improvement of spirit between the two of them. He hadn't really known what he'd come here for but it seemed the answer was a certain sense of camaraderie regarding parents who were not, it might be said, the best at what they did but were at least trying.

"Your mother does love you, I am sure; else she wouldn't spend several hours verbally destroying the Headmaster for losing track of you." A thoughtful expression came across Louise's face as she considered that. He found it unlikely that she'd never thought of it herself, of course.

"He must have some faith in you. After all, he did come to see your familiar in person, didn't he?" That was true. Father had also brought all of the things that Kenneth had asked for, as well. So he was acknowledging the possibility that Guiche had not been taken in.

He smiled at her, and she in turn. The moment last about up until she acquired a smug smirk and rolled her eyes. "You're still a womanizing fop, Gramont." His only response was to roll his eyes back at her and chuckle.

"And you're alright for a magically incompetent menace, Vallière." Their continued mirth was quite suddenly interrupted by her door opening up. Slowly, the two of them turned to look at the pink-haired woman standing in the doorway. The two teens stared blankly at the adult woman giving the two of them an incomprehensible look. Then she focused on her daughter.

"Louise, I shall be taking your familiar for the day. Meet us in the courtyard after class." Her attention then shifted to Guiche, who squirmed uncomfortably under a stare with an intensity reminded him of the sun itself. "Just make sure that you're prepared to take responsibility."

Then she was gone. They were left stunned in place, trying to parse precisely what had just happened.

"Did... did your mother just make a joke?" Guiche turned to Louise. She was very, very red.

"... I have no idea, but I sincerely hope so." The awkward pause continued until the two of them broke contact simultaneously. Like he would do… _that_ … with Louise the Zero! Hmph. "I think you'd best go now, Guiche." He nodded. Yes, that was a very good idea.

* * *

Kenneth did not _have to_ look like a slovenly madman.

This was the second grand revelation of the day; right behind being able to relate to Louise's home life. Guiche's familiar was waiting for him downstairs and was astonishingly smartly dressed. If he was feeling uncharitable he might almost say suspiciously so.

The dwarf smelled a lot less like bacon, as well. Probably due to having actually changed his clothes. He still had the bundled-up stone on his back but that was a given. There was still that odd armour; although Guiche had never really seen it like this. He'd waxed the leather, it seemed, and even given all the little ceramic plates sewn into it a shine. Sort of a scaled design.

"Ser Kenneth…" The dwarf just held up one gauntleted hand and shook his head. His cloak looked a bit odd, what with having arms and all, but… Guiche just nodded. "Thank you." Kenneth smiled, and it was weird being able to tell he was so easily. Having a clean and re-braided beard did that. The beads woven throughout it clacked together every time he moved his head.

"At least he can look the part of a proper servant." If he focused, Guiche thought he might just be able to _hear_ his spine tensing. General Armand de Gramont strolled… no, _marched_ out into the courtyard with his burnished breastplate gleaming in the son. It was some alchemical marvel; a very expensive, very tough alloy that was lighter than steel. He didn't know the name.

General Gramont looked Kenneth up and down but didn't say anything else about him. Instead he turned to his son with a look that wasn't much of anything at all. Not even disappointment. "Your grades are insufficient for you to miss any of your classes, Guiche. Come with me, servant." He moved past the two of them and as he did Guiche couldn't help but think that he hadn't even bothered to tell him to go to class. Why should he have to? His expectations were clear.

And yet Kenneth did not move an inch. It took his father a moment to realize that but, when he did, his expression was unimpressed. "I believe I gave you an order. If there is one thing I do not tolerate from anyone it is _insubordination_." Guiche couldn't help but tremble. Yes, that was certainly true. Yet still… Kenneth did not move.

"Ah think ye'll find, General, that as per the terms of my contract ah do not take orders from ye." A calm expression met an increasingly dark one as the two sized each other up. Then the smaller one looked to his boy. "Master Gramont. Is it yer wish that ah attend to yer father t'day?" The look in his father's eyes was borderline murderous. Guiche knew exactly why. His authority was being challenged, publicly, by a mere commoner. Worse than that, a mere _familiar_. His son's, no less.

"Yes. That is to say, I…" Want you to obey him as you would me. But no… that's not what he wanted, was it? Kenneth was standing up to his father on his behalf. Because he wasn't… he wasn't strong enough to do it. He'd never be… or, no… maybe that was… yet? "... wish for you to consider him as you would me." Words with a very specific meaning. One that his familiar had, perhaps, been waiting for. The dwarf nodded, and stepped smartly in line behind the General; who marched off with a stormy expression and a theatrical twirl of his cape.

Guiche walked away with conflicting feelings of victory and dread fighting for dominance in his chest.

* * *

Karin Désirée de la Vallière née Maillart, often referred to as the Heavy Wind, did not consider herself to be a harsh woman. There was a Law to this world; a mandate of justice and obedience handed down from the very founder of their nation and magic that needed to be upheld. If it was not…

 _ _A memory of fire.__

The consequences were dire. She tried so very hard to instill certain qualities in her daughters. Ones which should hopefully see them through to a proper future; one where they didn't have to claw their way into what should be their birthright through a mound of corpses. If she was Steel then they were barely even Iron. It troubled her greatly to know what was out there, and how ill-prepared her daughters were.

Which was why she would not approve this familiar easily. His demeanour was certainly appropriate but he seemed almost _too_ servile. A manservant of that type was rare indeed. That Louise had happened across one, or summoned as the case may be, seemed suspicious to her. So she eyed him carefully as he lead her to the guest quarters.

Really, he did seem a superb servant by all appearances. She couldn't speak to his combat capabilities but he looked fit enough, and it seemed that he understood the importance of quickly and efficiently obeying orders. Even his appearance was quite proper; she could detect evidence of fresh stitching in the clothing he wore. Was it his skill, she wondered?

His gait was civilian, certainly. Every movement full of openings. Yet… yet even though she knew she could have killed him a dozen times over in the last ten paces something was troubling. It was like looking at an ocean when you knew there was a shark just beneath the waters. A threat you could tell was there on some level and yet lurked unseen.

So, when he opened the door, she slammed him through the open portal with a blast of wind.

To his credit, and she was legitimately surprised, he did notice her motions and even attempted a dodge; to no avail. Instead he was flung through the doorway and slammed into the far wall. Hard. She stepped through and closed the door behind her. One brow raised slightly when he rolled over but did not go to his feet. Instead he assumed a kneeling position, with head bowed.

"What is your name, servant?" First question. Gramont had not given the details of either in his letter; simply informed her of the generalities. Perhaps he had expected her to charge in with raised wand and simply destroy the both of them. Hmf. She might have to give him a refresher course soon; he seemed to be going senile in his age.

"Saito of Vallière, my lady." That particular response was especially unexpected and doubly aggravating. Yet, even so, she couldn't help but force down a smirk. He had a certain amount of pluck that she found to be… endearing. Like when that one tiny dog of Cattelya's attempted to savage her manticore. However; while she could respect that bravery it mustn't go unsanswered.

"You would presume to call yourself by that name so easily?" Fingers tensed on her wand. He reacted faster than she'd expected. That was her fault; he'd established a baseline earlier when he'd tried to dodge her attack. It must be because of the way he kept throwing off her good judgement; case in point, when he produced a riding crop and held it out above his palms.

"I apologize, my lady; please punish me as you see fit." Her fingers drummed against her side as she considered him carefully. After a moment she took the crop, but did not move to use it. Although it seemed for a moment that she was deep in thought in reality she was restraining her amusement at the thought of him blindsiding Louise like that. Very droll.

"Stand." He did so, but did not make eye contact; although he did not make the typical 'new servant' mistake of staring at her chestline either. He had his face towards hers but focused resolutely on her chin instead. Interesting. "Remove your shirt."

Whatever he may have expected no surprise showed on his face. He did so without complaint. She was met with another surprise, beyond that of the lack of reaction. Given his reactions she'd expected a certain amount of scarring, but… "Turn around." The back was worse. Were those from lashes? She couldn't quite tell. Very few weapon scars. Most of these looked like they were from animals.

"Redress." He did so quickly and efficiently. Hm. How old must he be? Not much older than Louise, certainly. She'd rate him at his early twenties at the latest. Very well trained and heavily scarred. Well, she could certainly examine him further. "My armour." Her arms went up to either side and he moved over smartly.

Obviously he'd never encountered armour like hers before; it was custom made to order, after all. But he did well to find all the little clasps and soon she was just in her travelling clothes. He'd even laid it out in the order he'd removed it to make it easier to put back on. Clever. She sat on the bed and gestured for him to stand before her. The wand-sword she would leave on her belt, but the backup bounced in her hand.

"You will tell me who you are, in totality, and you will be honest. If I suspect you are lying…" She made no specific threat. Part of her doubted her ability to punish him any worse than he had been in the past without actually killing him. Another part of her was simply firm in the belief that he would be honest. After an uncertain pause he took a knee again, a far more comfortable position for him and also one that looked more subservient.

"My lady. I was born to peasantry in the province of Hiraga, in South-Eastern Kagat. My father was a woodsman, my mother passed in childbirth. He died when an accident caused a tree to fall upon him." Although she hadn't heard of the lands there was an interesting thing to be taken from his story. No sorrow in his words. He'd never known them, not truly; or at least not well enough to grieve still. A regretful state of affairs.

"As per the law of the land the Lord Hiraga took ownership of me and I became Saito of Hiraga. I was trained as a Ranger; my duty being to patrol my lordship's land and turn away any bandits or dangerous animals I came across." Ah. That explained the markings she'd suspected a bear of. Not many of the others.

"Lord Hiraga was a very…" He struggled to seek a word that wouldn't offend her, no doubt. "Thorough man. He believed in a certain completeness of justice. The failures of his servants reflected upon him; so the failure of one was the failure of all." Karin's lips pursed. She did not like this man. To punish all his servants for the incompetence of a single lackey was the height of foolishness.

"I did not ask for your speculations on your prior master. Outline your capabilities." As he began she thought better of it and held out a hand for him to stop. There was a certain suspicion she had developed. "I have an inkling that you will have a varied skill set which you will claim is merely 'acceptable' or 'sufficient'. Is that correct?" Saito nodded slowly. "Hm. You may go. Attend to me in the morning as you would my daughter, and then we shall go to meet her. I awake a full half hour before her, at least."

Usually more, but this wasn't a campaign. Saito of Vallière left without turning his back to her. An impressive servant indeed. Even if his capabilities weren't up to scratch he might certainly do as a general manservant for Louise. She would not begrudge him the name; really, it was right and proper. He was not one of them, but rather owed himself to them.

She sighed. Then, since nobody was watching, flopped down on her bed in a distinctly unladylike and unprofessional manner. The letter from Marianne sat heavily in her travelling bag. It had no precisely ordered her to come _immediately_ , as such, and her old friend would certainly understand the situation. It likely wasn't even from the Queen herself; but rather just shoved in front of her to be signed.

Nevertheless. She had, in a way, subverted a royal order. The Rule of Steel bent, but was not broken. Even that was more than she was used to doing. All she could do was hope that it was worth it.

* * *

General Armand de Gramont was a decorated military officer. Halkegenia was not a peaceful place. Quite apart from the border skirmishes that tended to crop up with alarming regularity there were the various primitive tribes of orcs, and bandit lords, and wild trolls, and all sorts of other threats. Some advocated leaving such things to wandering adventurers, and 'heroes'.

Idiocy. Keeping the country safe was his duty. The duty of the military, and of his family. No son of his would be some feckless wanderer roaming the land and beating up bandits for silver. Yet Guiche… he despaired. The boy had potential, certainly, but he persisted in following fantastical notions and simply did not take his studies seriously.

He'd have to purchase a commission for the boy as soon as possible. In one of the knightly orders; they'd whip him into shape. Hopefully. Founder knows he'd certainly tried. It hadn't taken, it seemed; either that, or this… _Kenneth_ had been subverting his teachings.

His temper had cooled to a mere simmer by the time they reached the wagons with the various items that Guiche had requested. They had not been overly costly, in the end, and he'd simply subtract the costs from his son's allowance when this all came crashing down. The aggravating little person, who at least had proportions that suggested he wasn't merely a misshapen human, was following him closely behind.

"Now, you will tell me what you intend to do with all of… this." The familiar looked at him in a way that continued to rankle for some unknowable reason. Just something in the gaze. Like this fool was judging him.

"Well, ah intend to make somethin'. Armour fer Guiche, a spare weapon fer me, plus a proper bow fer Saito since Guiche promised his friend." That… all of this, for three items? That couldn't be true. There were far too many materials! Besides which, all of those odd substances and chemicals couldn't be useful for that.

The dwarf then legitimately surprised Armand by grasping the front wagon's crossbar and pulling. He could scarcely imagine the weight; five hundred kilos of clay, plus the two hundred of the anvil, and then the barrels of chemicals! They'd had to stick the metals in a second wagon. Each had needed four draft horses. Yet this person was hauling it along like it was a child's toy.

That was the beginning of the turning point in Armand de Gramont's opinions of his son's familiar. Both wagons were relocated by the dwarf, alone, to a junction of two of the exterior walls right towards the back of the school. The area had been prepared, it seemed; a large hollow some ten metres around had been dug perhaps a meter deep out from the wall. In the side, underneath the wall, there was another small hollow.

One of the teachers was waiting for them there. An unassuming looking man without any hair. Kenneth greeted him warmly and they clasped hands firmly. Interesting. Armand felt like he might almost recognize the man, but he let it slide in favour of watching the demonstration.

"Colbert is here t'help me with th' clay. Ah've made a lil' oven here, an' got he'll help me bake up some of th' bits ah need." So it began. Kenneth worked the clay quite well, in spite of his gloves, as Armand stood by and observed. At the very least he was a skilled artisan. He also kept taking rough handfuls of some of the chemicals and mixing it through his latest lump of clay. There was a final little hollow right in by the corner that he'd dug out; now he lined it with his treated clay and the flames conjured up by Colbert quickly baked it hard.

Then he hauled it out, carefully, and spun it over so that the Professor could bake the outside. Finally he shoved the dirt pile nearby back into the hole. The reason why he was doing this quickly became… if not entirely clear, at least less obfuscated. Using the spike on the back of his strange reddish axe he began to delicately carve symbols into the inside of the clay hemisphere laid in the ground. The work was slow, and methodical, and Armand recognized none of the runes he was making. Eventually he grew impatient.

"What is the purpose of this? What are you doing here?" Perhaps he could have waited, but right now he just wanted to know. Kenneth didn't say anything, though, he just kept working with intense focus. Eventually he lifted the bowl up and began to carve around the outside rim as well. Fuming quietly, Armand was forced to simply wait until he was done.

Then there were the bricks. As before he mixed handfuls of chemicals, the General couldn't identify them individually but the smell was certainly strong, with lumps of clay then worked then into rough squares so that Colbert could fry them in the oven. It was odd; the few things that he knew of ceramics told him that clay cooked that quickly should be weak. Yet, as Kenneth drew each one out of the oven with care, he simply carved a few symbols into the bottom and put them aside.

Finally, he began to make something. The bricks were laid out to form a frame for the bowl. That explained some of the more malformed bricks that had been purposefully shaped to create a depression around the edges for it to rest in. He took even more of the clay, having used up a noticeable amount by now, and mixed it with yet another chemical in order to secure the bricks together with it. When he was done Colbert lightly toasted it, as directed, and Kenneth laid the bowl down.

Then he took three iron ingots and laid them in the bowl. At first, nothing happened. Kenneth hauled the anvil off the cart like it was nothing and laid it in the middle of his workspace so he could use it to shape some more clay to make a mold. He and Colbert were working closely on that while Armand was more focused on the bowl. His curiosity was shortly rewarded.

The iron was melting. Slowly, at first, but getting faster as more of it became liquid. Soon enough there was a bubbling pool of molten metal in the clay bowl; devoid of any visible source of heat. Kenneth seemed to hear it reach that point and hopped out to grab another few ingots o toss in. He finally hauled the barrels of chemicals down, putting them right on the far side from the anvil, oven and molten metal, and took another few handfuls that he then casually tossed right into the pot.

There was immediately a blast of flame that had him leaning back, but he quickly stuck his axe in and started stirring the metal. After a moment he withdrew it, shook the molten metal off and put the glowing yet otherwise undamaged weapon aside to cool. By this point he had Armand's rapt attention.

The rest of the day was spent making tiny rings out of the odd composite metal that Kenneth had created. He'd also made a second, small, bowl with an actual handle that he used to collect the metal. Whatever runes he'd carved upon it did something as the metal rapidly changed colour while sitting in it.

He also made a number of different components that he worked together as they cooled; the two things he was making slowly coming into being. Firstly there was an oversized crossbow with a strange firing mechanism. Secondly was a bow, of sorts. It seemed to turn in on itself, and he'd never heard of a bow that had wheels in it.

By the end there was a gleaming square of chain alongside the two weapons. On the whole, Armand couldn't help but be genuinely impressed. While it wasn't indicative of his martial skills the little man was truly a masterful smith. There were also plenty of materials left over to, perhaps, make other things.

He'd invited Armand to test the armour; which he had done by laying it upon a hastily made training dummy and launching a few stone spikes at it. Kenneth even let him take a shot with his strange crossbow; which had a truly impressive kick to it. To projectiles such as that a mail shirt ought to be nothing more than a collection of holes. Yet, even though the former set of strikes knocked the dummy off its post, there was no penetration.

The fineness of the mail, and not in a poetic sense, couldn't be overstated. Kenneth had assembled the square as the tiny rings cooled, using a set of jeweller's tools, with incredible precision. It would, he said, make it more vulnerable to tearing stresses but he had faith in the strength of his work. He was also planning to make a half-plate instead, once Guiche was a little stronger.

Finally, the two of them stood not quite face to face.

"I'm not ashamed to admit that I didn't expect much from you. It was my thought that you were simply some con artist with a sob story that my son had bought into." Kenneth smirked at the backhanded yet ultimately tacit admission that he was a worthwhile familiar. Even if he was saying as such, Armand still found himself irritated by the man's manner.

"However. I cannot condone the things you have been feeding my son. He is to be soldier, and an Officer; not some lackadaisical wanderer with few prospects and fewer morals." For a moment the dwarf said nothing. Then he picked up the bow and crossbow, hauled his bundled stone back on to his back, and set off.

"Lemme tell ya a lil' thing, there, Gen'ral. Y'seem t'have misread yer son." Armand raised an eyebrow, but allowed the diminutive man to continue. He wasn't being abjectly offensive… this time. "He'll be a leader. Tha's a matter o' fact. Now, me, ah'd be yer fairly typical 'lackadaisical wanderer', right enough. As ah'm sure ye had guessed." Indeed, he had the demeanour that was typical of that kind.

"But yer son is different. 'e as a thing ah dinnae. That'd be Charisma, Gen'ral. Ah dinnae have it. People, they won't follow me. Inspiring ain't me thing. Intimidating, right enough, ah kin do that. Leading? Nah. Only person who'd follow me is me wife." Armand allowed himself a raised brow, unable to imagine what squat, dumpy woman a man, or dwarf, such as this may have married. He did not comment upon it, and Kenneth didn't seem to notice.

"However, ye've read him wrong. He doesn't want t'lead an army; although one'll certainly follow him. Nay, my lad, he wants to _be_ an army." That brought Armand right up short, just as Kenneth stopped as well. Standing and watching the doors. "An' my aim is t'give that t'him. Y'see, Armand, Guiche doesn't want to be ye." The doors opened.

"He wants t'be her."

Followed closely by her daughter's familiar and the child in question, Karin de la Vallière stepped into the sunlight.


	5. Zero and Bronze: Feelings and Evaluation

Louise de la Vallière, frequently known as the Zero, still had no idea what to make of the young man who was, apparently, her familiar. From the beginning she'd had very little idea; when the smoke had cleared her first thought had been that he was just another in a long line of her failures.

But he wasn't. She hadn't known what to think about that. Kirche and the dwarf had been sitting together laughing over whatever ribald jokes he was telling while Guiche had his own little hissyfit in the corner and her familiar, her servant, just sat there quietly.

He'd answered questions, when she'd asked. Quietly, concisely, in slightly accented Tristainian. Without making eye contact at any point. She had eventually agreed to the contract if only because Professor Colbert had helped to draw it up, and she really wanted this to work.

She'd done it. He was bound to her, and contracted into her service. It was like she was dreaming. Of course, he was a person. That hadn't been expected. Really, she'd not had much of an idea what to do with them. In the end he'd suggested that he sleep with the other servants and come attend to her in the morning.

'Attend'. Hah. What a word. She'd woken up to find him waiting for her with a maid, and clothing laid out. Then he'd left the room while the maid helped dress her. When he came back in she'd informed him that she could dress herself from then on. That had been… embarrassing. The maid was nice about it, but she'd felt like a child again.

His reaction had been horrifying. He'd pulled out a riding crop, her crop, and apologized for his… his 'presumptuousness'. She hadn't understood what was going on. Her familiar was just kneeling down and offering her a tool. Then she'd understood. He wanted… no, perhaps the better word was that he'd expected to be beaten for it.

To what she would now say was her shame, Louise had considered it. She'd taken the crop from him and held it for a few moments. Her mother had punished servants in the past, but never by striking them. She knew other nobles did so. Maybe she would have done it, even, if he wasn't so… sincere.

That was the word. He obeyed orders without question and acted with a level of efficiency that matched anyone worthy of employ by the Vallière's. It might be different if he was irreverent, or insulting, or disrespected her on any level. Instead he… he turned his back to her so she could strike him more easily.

She'd let it go. They'd gone to the dining hall together, with him following quietly only a few steps back. When they arrived he'd done all the things she supposed a servant was meant to do. He was drawing quite a lot of attention, though, with how he stood perpetually ready to attend her.

In the end she'd ordered him to familiarise himself with the grounds while she was in class just to get him out of the way. The constant attendance was nice, she supposed, but the amount of focus she was getting from everyone wasn't something she was used to. When it was positive, that is.

Lunch became another surprise. She'd been cleaning up the classroom after another failed spell when he'd appeared with a pre-prepared lunch for her. While she ate he'd started doing her job in her stead; an attempt to tell him not to got a mild rebuff followed by another apologetic offer for her to punish him.

That seemed to be the routine from then on. He'd show up to wake her, with her clothes for the day laid out already, and then step outside while she dressed herself. During breakfast he would handle her chair, fix a plate for her and calmly wait until she was done. If she had a mishap during the day then he'd shortly appear to help her clean up.

At the end of the second day, when she returned to her room, it was spotless. He'd dusted and washed everything and also waxed all of the wooden surfaces. All of her clothes had been washed, pressed and apparently infused with some sort of flowery scent that was quite nice. When she pressed him for information he eventually revealed that he'd stepped out of Academy during her classes yesterday and acquired some wildflowers that he had distilled down to their vital essences.

It was just all so strange. Louise had never had a dedicated attendant before. The servants at home were certainly skilled but, at the same time, they were always just sort of there. Almost like furniture. Whereas her familiar was always there beside her. Whenever she needed him he just materialized to do her bidding; carrying out her orders with an intensity that seemed to consume him, utterly.

On the third day with him she was suddenly struck with a deep and abiding fear that, if she did not keep an eye on him, he may just start going even further overboard. A vision of her familiar diligently renewing the lace on all of her underthings drove her to imperiously demand he stay with her during class time.

That was when she learned about another trait of her familiar. He was an idiot. Against the advisement of all of her classmates she was called upon, again, to try and perform a spell in class. The expected happened, of course, with a devastating blast. Luckily, nobody was hurt… except her stupid, courageous, heroic idiot of a familiar.

He'd crossed the room and knocked her down with a flying tackle. When the dust had settled she'd been fine, as had the majority of the class. Some scrapes and a few scratches and one person in a mild fugue due to Montmorency's terrified lizard crawling over their face. Then there was him, with a twenty centimetre splinter of wood in his back.

She'd gotten permission to take him to the infirmary straight away and return to clean up later. The school's healer had removed the shard of desk and cleaned him up right-quick. It hadn't penetrated all that far; apparently because of how tense his muscles had been when it hit. He'd been advised to not do it again.

When Louise had tried to order him not to do it again she had received, for the very first time, a glimmer of an emotion beyond blind obedience from him. If that even counted. Saito had outright refused to do so. He'd said that she had accepted his service and that meant he would protect her whether she liked it or not.

It had been… certainly something. The fervor in his voice had given her pause. Although he threw himself fervently into any task she gave him it somehow felt more genuine in that moment. She did punish him, then; assuming that punching him in the shoulder for saying something so stupid counted.

Afterwards she'd hugged him as well, because it felt like the thing to do.

The next day was uneventful even if she was finally falling into a proper rhythm with Saito. He didn't seem quite so intimidating after the previous day's events and so she felt like she could stand up to him. Sort of. Well, that was how she saw it.

Ignoring his many attempts to dissuade her she took him into the woods near the Academy in order to point out which plants made useful reagents. Apparently, when he'd come here on his own, he'd had to avoid a few instances of dangerous wildlife. She merely pronounced her confidence in his ability to protect her and actually got a very tiny huff from him in response.

Well, he might have just been breathing out. It was very hard to damage his composure. Still, the day had gone well. He'd even demonstrated one of his skills at her request; his ability to read tracks. Saito hadn't fully explained himself until after the first demonstration which had involved leading her to the hiding place of an adorably terrified fawn.

The moment had been somewhat spoiled when he asked if she would like venison for dinner. That had lead to a discussion as to what sort of game was and was not acceptable with fawns being highly ranked on the 'unacceptable' listing. Besides which, in many places certain animals belonged either to the local noble or the crown and hunting them would be poaching. She wasn't sure what applied to this area but it was likely property of the Academy itself.

He'd moved on to showing her how he'd identified the tracks of the mother deer in a way that made her suspect he might already be guilty of poaching. It was actually refreshing to know that even her seemingly perfect familiar could make mistakes. Louise made a note to bring it up at every opportunity.

It was, however, a productive day; even if she couldn't understand the explanations. In some small way, Louise still felt like she was a little closer with her familiar. From what she'd seen of the others Saito was meant to be more like a lifelong partner than an actual servant.

The bond was supposed to persist until the death of one of you; in theory you could summon a new familiar but few chose to do so. At least not soon. She knew her mother had done so, and almost immediately, but apparently she'd needed a mount immediately and had no time for sentimentality. Just one of many things she rarely had time for.

Apparently Louise didn't either, because the thought had barely time to cross her mind before she fell asleep. Saito hadn't woken her up, but her clothes were laid out as per usual. He wasn't waiting outside of her door like she'd expected. She'd had to venture into the servants area to find him and that had certainly been awkward; all of the Academy's maids kept looking at her strangely.

He had been deep in discussion with one of the maids, in fact. She almost hadn't wanted to interrupt them but he'd seemed to sense her and turned around as soon as she thought about stepping back. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed; another human emotion that seemed out of place on her oh-so-precise familiar.

Saito had apologized, of course. Apparently he had come here for some inscrutable purpose that he did his best to gloss over and simply gotten distracted. Although, after a bit of pressing, she was able to figure out why her usually unflappable servant was so deeply invested in some random maid.

Seems he'd recognized something she was carrying as a religious symbol from his homeland. She'd given him the morning off, then. He'd looked conflicted but, in the end, had acquiesced with her request once it became a command. Louise knew that he'd never ask her for a day off even if she had to, by contract, grant them to him.

Instead of attempting to bond further with her familiar she'd spent the morning catching up on coursework. It wasn't that difficult. She could barely recall a time when she'd had difficulty with any theory work. Even the third year's curriculum had grown dull. Nowadays she preferred to look up some of the professionally published treatises in the library; anything by one of the Professors tended to provide a nice challenge.

Well, she could barely understand it at all but challenging herself like that was at least more interesting than crunching through sets of questions that were essentially the same. Number of unique spell configurations, number of known spells, reason for discrepancies, so on and so forth. She doubted half her classmates paid as much attention as she did; they were too focused on the practical side.

When Saito had finally returned to her she was trying to figure out a paper by the new teacher who'd had her blow up a classroom the day of the summoning while trying a basic transmutation. It was about the nature of certain metals being harder to transmute or manipulate than others and why that might be so.

At the time he interrupted her she was puzzling over descriptions of certain alloys and the rough amounts of willpower consumed by shaping them, as well as comparing the difficulty of transmuting a simple stone into one versus shaping the component metals instead. It was… well, perhaps it was not interesting but she found it to be so even if others did not.

Still, her familiar had come to her with a curious request. He'd asked if they could travel into town so that she might purchase some weaponry for him. They had been lucky before to avoid any dangers in the forest but if they came he would be forced to defend her with his hands alone. While he would certainly do as such it would not do for him to so shamefully die while his master had need of him.

The argument had swayed her and she'd agreed to go; next weekend. For some reason that would not do, though, and when she pointed out that the ride there would take up time enough even without considering the return trip he had simply said that he would take care of it.

Louise made careful note that, in the future, if her familiar declared he would 'take care' of anything at all she would get all of the details before allowing him to do so. She was unable to make this note until such time as the horse they were riding on skidded to a halt. As her thoughts had readjusted themselves she'd tried to figure out precisely how he'd managed to get her on the animal behind him.

It had seemed reasonable. She was capable enough of riding her own horse at a reasonable pace, but he claimed to have far greater experience at controlling such animals at speed. Louise hadn't doubted him there; her own skill in such could not be measured due to its total absence. How very reasonable he had seemed when the horse was not galloping full speed down the main road.

The reason for her blessed respite had been the other person to receive a strange familiar; Guiche de Gramont. She had little care for the foppish young man but was rather surprised to see him in such an unruly state and out in the middle of nowhere with his, ah, dwarf. Until she'd had a moment to think on it she realized that she hadn't seen much of either of them since the summoning save for during class time.

Said dwarf, whom she'd needed to remind herself actually had a name, had made a curious offer that Saito had been eager to accept. Some moments of conversation had lead him to explain, in short, that the individual in question was a literal living legend in his homeland and that to refuse an offer of a dwarf-made weapon, without any mention of payment, was the height of foolishness.

So she'd acquiesced. Then there had been the weapon store and, well, the less thought about that debacle and the incredible rudeness involved therein the better.

Mostly because it had ended with _her mother_ coming to the school in person to check on her. Guiche had looked similarly green to be faced with his own father and, so, some part of her was thoroughly unsurprised to have him come to her the next morning to commiserate.

She'd never known him to have an emotion beyond vanity, arrogance or preening. The latter surely counted as an emotion; at least when dealing with Guiche. To see him as morose as she was certainly changed her opinion of him. Then his family situation, and almost perfect relationship with his father… well, from her point of view, at least. He didn't quite see it that way.

In the end he could understand her at least a little bit as well even if they approached the issues of their parents from different directions. Guiche seemed to do his best to be anything but what his father wanted whereas she… in the end she would have simply settled for not being a disappointment.

Which lead to the frankly astounding scene she had come face to face with. Her mother, standing beside her familiar in the central courtyard of the school, was smiling. She looked… _pleased_. Then she looked up at her daughter _and her expression didn't change_.

It might just be the greatest day of her entire life.

* * *

Bumping into Louise's mother, and familiar, on the way down to meet his father was definitely in the running for the most unpleasant moment of Guiche's entire life. Even then, that was really the wrong word. It was less unpleasant and more absolutely, abjectly terrifying.

He knew very little about the Duchess de la Vallière. His father spoke of a number of nobles with varying frequency, the Duke certainly being one of them, but the topic of his wife never seemed to come up. Something about her just made Guiche's hairs stand on end. She was a woman who gave the constant impression that she was restraining, at great personal effort, from laying waste to everything her gaze fell upon.

If he hadn't met Kenneth then he might not have been able to identify it. But it was something he'd asked the dwarf about; the curious intensity he seemed to be able to bring to bear at a moment's notice in order to immediately shatter Guiche's resolve and bring him to heel. The dwarf had eventually said, after some hemming and hawing, that it was a mixture of two things.

Firstly, it was evaluation. Kenneth was, on some subtle level, constantly examining everything he saw to see if it was a threat to him. The only time he let his guard down was when he was alone with his wife. Secondly, it was determination. That explanation had left Guiche cold. Simply put, Kenneth was a killer. Not a murderer, although he was guilty of that crime in some cases; where it had been his word against another's, where there was no evidence to be brought before a magistrate and no justice save that delivered at the end of an axe swing.

Rather, he had killed before. He would kill again if he had to. Without hesitation. Not without cause, certainly, but once that cause was there he would wade through pools of blood to see it through. It was the path that Guiche himself would end up upon if he carried on under Kenneth's instruction. The dwarf had promised him, though, that he would tell him when he reached the point of no return. Few people got that luxury.

That was Louise's mother in a nutshell. She could and probably would slaughter him with a flick of her wand should she feel sufficient cause to do so. He resolved, then and there, never to give that to her. In the face of that steely determination his father was almost a joke.

The key word there, Guiche mused, being 'almost'. He had followed the Duchess quietly, though not as quietly as Saito, and they'd ended up outside. Kenneth was standing beside his father and holding some things. They were both waiting for him.

It seemed unfair that even after being exposed to Kenneth for almost a week now his father could so easily cow him. Surely they weren't even on the same scale of fear? But, no, one stern look as they drew closer brought him to silence… although the words that followed would have done so anyway.

"My son's familiar has proven he has an… adequate level of skill. In non-martial spheres, at least. Your daughter's?" The Duchess glanced down at Saito, who was standing in his usual demure holding pattern right where a casual sideways glance could see him.

"I have extracted the rough details of his capabilities from him, with no small amount of effort, and evaluated those I could. Now all that remains is to test the remainder with the help of this dwarf." Kenneth didn't rankle at the nomenclature even if it was likely not meant as a racial identifier. He merely offered the bow up to Saito.

The young man seemed almost perplexed by it. However, at the Duchess' command, they moved outside of the Academy's walls to the low plain nearby. Kenneth apologized for not supplying proper arrows but apparently he'd run out of time.

"Hmph. A true soldier does not blame his tools for poor performance… but I shall be interested in the results nonetheless." General Gramont was not quite swayed yet, it seemed. Several porters carrying makeshift archery butts had shortly followed them out and set about laying them out. There were quite a few; three were laid out at around fifty metres, then one laid out at a hundred, then a hundred and fifty, and lastly one at two-hundred. That was her command, at least, and they seemed close enough to the mark to satisfy her.

"You may now demonstrate." Saito nodded and stepped up as Guiche watched with bated breath. This was it. Not only was the fate of Louise's familiar resting on this but also the reputation of his own. If Kenneth's bow proved to be unsuitable then his father would have cause to rescind his earlier assessment.

The first shot went nowhere near the first of the three closer targets; Saito overshot by a good thirty metres. His second was far too short. Then the third passed between two of them. Guiche had to resist the urge to groan. If not for the circumstances he might be elated at the failures simply due to how thoroughly the perfect servant had proven himself to be otherwise.

His moment of despair collapsed in on itself as the fourth arrow hit one of the targets. It was not complex; they had taken unused easels and simply laid scrap fabric around a circular frame, with a rough red spot in the middle about the size of a fist. Still, he had hit the target.

Saito's fifth arrow hit the red spot. His sixth did as well; on the next target over. His seventh did too, and by then he was drawing and releasing in a single, smooth motion that left him adjusting towards the next target before his arrow had even hit. All three hit at the fifty mark he struck the hundred next, then the hundred and fifty, then back to put an arrow in each of the fifties once more before circling back around yet again.

His first shot at the hundred and fifty butt had hit it, but not the center. He finished off by putting the last three arrows through the red mark and lowered his bow. Three misses out of fifteen arrows, but once he'd hit a target he hadn't missed again.

Guiche and his father had rather similar reactions to the display; that being a burst of initial surprise and then simply being mildly impressed by the end. Certainly, it was a good showing but not a particularly strenuous feat for a quality archer, surely? But Kenneth was smirking for some reason.

"Y'barely strained y'self there, lad. Why dun we go fer a real challenge?" Her Grace seemed to agree with his familiar's sentiments, for she directed the porters to recollect the arrows and take the butts out even further. One was shortly sitting at two-hundred metres, and another at two-fifty. After some consideration they put one all the way out at three-hundred metres.

A truly skilled musketeer could only reliably hit a target at under a hundred and fifty metres; although some of the elite could supposedly make better shots. Accurate archery range was a little better than that, but you tended to mass bows for effect in any case. It was the only way to reliably damage an enemy army with any wind mages seconded to it.

Saito took a few moments to prepare before taking his first shot. It landed within a metre of the two-hundred. He paused for a few moments before firing again; a hit, this time. The third went right through the middle. For the two-fifty he actually clipped the edge of the butt with his first shot, then the second and third landed within a handspan of the center. Guiche found he was actually holding his breath.

For a time the familiar was very still. He sighted on the last target and then closed his eyes to take a few deep breaths. When he opened them he drew and fired in one smooth, beautiful motion. Their eyes were glued to the arrow as it described a short spiral on the way downrange before, finally, landing firmly in the top of the target.

"Hm." The Duchess broke the stunned silence as she cast a critical eye over his shots. "You will practice more; but your skill level is… acceptable. How is the equipment?" Saito raised the bow and held it out. What a curious mess it was. Strangely shaped arms, multiple strings on an odd frame and a construction that featured wood and metal in a bizarre fusion.

"It is curious. After a point some peculiarity in the mechanism makes it suddenly easier to draw; I suspect sustained shooting will be easier than with a recurve, although my speed may suffer." Kenneth nodded with a certain air of smugness. It was his craftsmanship on display, after all. "Distance is also good. With proper fletching I should be able to increase my accuracy in the middle ranges but beyond two hundred and fifty metres it is more luck than skill to hit."

Guiche just silently noted that, if that last target had been a standing man, the arrow would have likely caught them in the forehead or throat. Her Grace looked rather pleased, though. They followed her lead back inside and left the porters to tidy up. Saito was clutching his bow like it might run away from him at any moment; he seemed inordinately pleased to have it.

As they reached the courtyard Louise finally came forth. Her mother hadn't asked him where she was, but if she had then he'd have gladly volunteered she had to clean up yet another mess. Only a small one this time, relatively speaking. Funnily enough, she seemed strangely startled at seeing her mother for some reason.

"Ah, Louise. Your familiar has met my expectations. I have agreed to the terms of his contract, and shall append his wages to your monthly allowance." That was much better than Guiche had expected to get. He also hadn't expected Her Grace to lay her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Your judgement was sound. He is a quality servant, and well worthy of our house."

Tears were actually welling in Louise's eyes as she stared up at her mother. Ah. Right. That was probably the closest to a complete compliment that she'd ever heard from her parent. Guiche couldn't help but glance over at his own father; who was watching the proceedings intently and with disapproval.

"Hmph. It seems that neither of you are, as first I had suspected, a pair of brazen rogues attempting to con our children out of money." That was likely the closest that his father would get to admitting he'd been wrong. Guiche could just sense the oncoming counterpoint, though.

"However; while I will gladly acknowledge Karin's judgement in regards to her own daughter's familiar I am not so convinced as to yours, Guiche. Certainly he has a level of artisanal talents, that I will not deny." Luckily, with how Kenneth was facing, nobody but Guiche saw him roll his eyes. "Yet it remains to be seen if he is worth the exorbitant wage that he is demanding."

The General looked to Karin, who gave him a similarly fixed stare back. There seemed to be a silent war carrying on in their gazes; some severe struggle back and forth. In the end it was his father who looked away.

"Your presumptions give credit to your bravery, Armand, but not to your intellect. I shan't play the role of your fighting dog in this ring." The way his father shrugged led Guiche to believe that he had expected as much and merely asked on principle.

"Very well." Armand de Gramont shrugged his cloak off and waved over one of the omnipresent guards he'd brought with him. Guiche had rather forgotten they were there, if he'd ever taken notice of them in the first place. Underneath he was clad in his fine breastplate embossed with their house crest.

Others brought over greaves and bracers for him that they set about quickly securing as Guiche slowly realized what was going on. He grasped his familiar by the shoulder and pulled him around; lowering himself to the same height.

"He's going to fight you!" Kenneth nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. This was going to be a disaster. His father was a Square-class Earth mage! While the dwarf was certainly strong and tough and eminently skilled there was no way he could hold his own against someone like that, even with his own peculiar talents.

"Aye, boy. That'd be what ah was countin' on." His familiar shucked his stone burden and carefully laid it down on the ground. Then he looked to Armand. "Mayhaps y'wanna do this outside th' walls. We dinnae wanna do any damage to th' grounds, do we?" The look of amusement on the General's face was palpable but he inclined his head all the same.

They strolled back out on the the plain where the archery demonstration had taken place; now devoid of targets, and stood some ten metres apart. Guiche stood much further back with the Duchess, Louise and Saito; the foremost of the three conspicuously standing in front of them. As was custom, his father bowed to Kenneth and then introduced himself.

"I am Armand the Quake, good dwarf, and I would know your name as well... before I test your mettle." This couldn't end well. He hadn't heard that name in so long, now. Only when Louise laid a hand on his shoulder did Guiche realize he was trembling. His father had drawn his swordwand and stood at the ready, while his familiar just stood there.

"Aye… ye would, would ye? Ah get yer meaning there, boy." Even if he was trying to be polite about the duel it still seemed to annoy his father every time Kenneth did that. Even if it was, by his standards, entirely accurate.

"Very well. Ah am **Kenneth Manson** , once **Son of Man** ; called by name o' **Flamecutter** , **Mountain Rider** , **Dragon Drinker** , an' **Tomb Bearer**. Y'may think yer a big man 'round these parts, kid, but lemme tell you; ah was fighting wars afore yer grandfather _were e'en born_." He loosed his axe from his side and lifted his hand to run it along the edge of the blade. There was a glow between his fingers as the surface began to glow red.

"T'summarise for ya, _brat_? Bring it."


	6. Bronze and Conflict

Every mage had a tendency to acquire a 'signature' spell. It was just a matter of efficiency; not everyone could unleash such devastating damage as Karin could without an incantation and, so, one would by necessity practice saying the incantation of a particular spell as fast as possible.

For most of the nobility it was enough to have just one, maybe two. Armand's old friend over there could get away without having any; which isn't to say that she didn't, merely that she didn't have to. As for the General himself? He spent every morning reciting every incantation in his main combat repertoire in sequence, ten times, as he performed his post-waking routine.

Which is why the incantation for his one, true signature spell tumbled out of his mouth within two seconds and shattered the plain beneath them into unrecognizability.

Four stacked Earth elements; a pure Earth spell of devastating power. Square-Class Magic 'Grand Quake'. The primary impact point, and an area within about two metres of it, was undamaged by design. Then the shockwaves rolled out; waves of ground liquefaction causing the area to briefly resemble an ocean in a storm.

Then it was torn apart. The raised ground collapsed and broke apart. General Gramont scanned the rubble for a sign of his opponent and was somewhat surprised to see he was still standing. Perhaps he shouldn't have toned his spell down. Still, even at half power that was impressive.

In a way, that was already a passing grade. He doubted that Guiche would ever have cause to encounter someone nearly so dangerous as himself. But the current situation had him feeling rather curious. His expectation had been to pick the dazed little brute out of the rubble.

Instead said brute was resolutely charging towards him over the rubble. He didn't seem to be having all that much difficulty with the difficult terrain, either. Armand took a moment to animate the ground below his feet to lift him up. With that much he could certainl-

It was quite lucky that he had some chantless casting ability. Not nearly as much as Karin, but certainly enough to wordlessly blast a small wave of dirt upwards in order to deflect the crossbow bolt that Kenneth had just fired at him. It was knocked off course by the cloud of debris and spun off to one side with a spiteful buzz.

The short bastard could cock it one-handed as well. He fired again; only this time Armand was prepared for it and had animated a second mass of earth to use as a shield. It rose up to take the bolt, but the distraction of the shots had allowed the dwarf to draw nearer to him.

Time to move away. The earth beneath him shifted and carried him back at a rate the tiny creature couldn't match. Hmph. A crossbow and an axe against a noble mage? Like that would ever work. Even if he was rather tough he simply couldn't… catch… up?

Which was apparently why he'd stopped trying. Instead he was just standing there on a pile of rubble. Waiting. He'd realized he couldn't catch up either, but he'd also put his crossbow away. Armand directed his mobile platform to circle to the side toward the observers just in case; that way they would be behind him if he had to do something big again.

It took a moment for him to realize that Kenneth wasn't looking at him. He was looking past him, towards his son. Something seemed to pass between the two, because Guiche nodded slowly. Then Kenneth shifted his focus back to Armand.

The dwarf tapped his foot against the ground and immediately dropped out of sight.

In the following moments General Gramont cursed the cognitive dissonance that delayed his response. He _knew_ that the familiar was not human, he has _seen_ it use a form of magic just earlier that day and his son was _also_ an Earth mage. So it stood to reason that his familiar, being magically capable, would have complementary abilities!

His internal surety that only nobles could use magic had dulled his reaction speed when faced with evidence to the contrary. It was _stupid_. Karin would undoubtedly lecture him on it later. Armand quickly stacked three earths together and unleashed a lesser Quake spell towards the point where the dwarf had vanished.

A rising tide of shifting earth and stone moved out from him like a wave; spreading as it did so. And, as the wake rose into the air, it split in twain mere metres in front of him. Armand had to launch himself off his perch in order to avoid the ground-splitting two-handed axe stroke that passed through the spot his head had occupied only a second earlier.

Quite literally ground-splitting, in fact, as Armand saw and felt the animating energy of his platform dissolve due to the damage Kenneth had caused to it with that one hit. He didn't particularly care, though. This had started out dull and quite suddenly become very exciting.

The familiar turned to acquire his target and then leaned forward; tapping the ground twice with his foot. It rose up in a little heap and propelled him forward as he balanced on the fast-moving surface. Armand couldn't stop the feral grin that came to his face. It was just like fighting with an elf.

That didn't stop him from reacting, of course. As Kenneth drew closer he allowed the dirt pushing him to curve slightly and tilt to one side; allowing him better leverage for the upswing he directed towards Armand's side. Instead of trying to block a creature obviously much more physically adept than he was the General pushed himself back at the last moment then let loose the spell he'd been building.

That made two Square spells in one day; he'd like as not have a splitting headache by the end of the fight but it would be well worth it. His blood hadn't boiled like this for _years_. The little shit wasn't hesitating at all, nor holding back; every strike so far would have been fully lethal if it had connected.

His spell of choice in this case was another one of his own devising. He'd named it 'Stone Hydra' when he was a much younger man, and had thought such a thing sounded cool. Really, it was far more impressive than the Grand Quake; but, still, he'd gotten named for the other one. Sometimes there was no justice.

The first animated serpent surged forth from the ground to Kenneth's left and bore down on him; sloughing off loose dirt as it rose and dived. There were close to a dozen of them now, born from years of perfecting the spell. Compressing and transforming the dirt into stone was far less energy intensive than metal transmutations, and making them bronze or steel would have just been overkill.

Or so he'd thought until right that moment.

Kenneth spun out of the way as his creation hit the ground. It moved through the ground like it was water, complete with ripples in the ground as the force of its motions caused liquefaction. His outstretched hand skimmed along the side of the diving beast and then he reversed his axe in order to drive the spike on the back home.

A massive gout of stone was torn out of the serpent as it finished the dive and vanished beneath the surface. It was at the moment that the second one leapt that Armand suddenly realized the flaw in his attack. Unlike the various other mages and armies he'd unleashed these on… Kenneth was _experienced_ in fighting things like these.

Case in point, as the second gaping maw of teeth bore down upon him he spun around and moved to one side; striking the beast on the side of its nose with a forceful left hook as he avoided the charge. Armand's snake spun right off course and dug out a deep furrow when it struck the ground at the wrong angle.

The General focused on the others forming underneath him. He could feel the base structure, the actual 'Hydra', forming the next set of serpents, and the first one was only lightly damaged. A quick command spell was sent down into the dirt in order to command the remainder to stay put. He'd gather them all, and strike in sequence.

His very first one burst up from under Kenneth. They had sharp teeth, certainly, but also a stomach. Many times he'd captured enemy nobles by consuming them from beneath like this. The strategy didn't work so well on the dwarf. Instead of the snake curving over and back down into the ground again, prize safely in its stomach, there was a horrific sound as a line of red appeared halfway down the damaged body.

The top half broke away from the bottom in an explosion of rocky shards and Kenneth leapt out from between them. He hit the ground not ten metres distant from Armand and exploded forward with axe swinging. A desperate attempt to dodge and parry at the same time didn't result in the jarring impact that the General had been expected. He was, however, scratched across the face as half his sword went flying away over his shoulder.

Armand tumbled and hit the ground, words forming on his tongue as Kenneth brought his axe around for the second stroke. His palm hit the ground, pushing him up and launching a spike of earth right into the dwarf's chest.

The tip of the spike penetrated the surface of the armour and then shattered. Armand was on his feet now, retrieving his first spare wand from where it was strapped to his right bracer; while it would work from there he needed the extra control.

He was resorting to high-speed Dot and Line spells, now. Rows upon rows of earthen spikes shot out of the ground towards his foe to no effect. Anything that hit the armour broke, a good number of them were destroyed by one-handed axes strokes before then and when he got enough distance to risk an Earth Lance, a Triangle spell, Kenneth had punched the tip of the spike with his left hand and it had shattered down its length.

Fantastic. The dwarf was fantastic. Armand would have been proud to fight alongside him in the field. Unfortunately, the fight was now over. He'd have loved to extend it but he had to acknowledge the small man's staying power in this conflict was far greater than his. Already he could feel the tell-tale burn of willpower exhaustion starting to creep up on him.

Ten stone serpentine heads burst from the ground around Kenneth. These hadn't been disengaged from the main body just yet. They formed a circle and curled down to glare at him. Couldn't hiss, though. Armand had never been able to get the hissing down.

The dwarf was still but tense; balancing his axe in hand and trying to keep an eye on as many of them as possible. He didn't move otherwise. Armand took the opportunity to finally catch his breath; he hadn't realized how much the running had taken out of him.

"Yield… dwarf. You are… surrounded." Still puffed. A quick glance over at the watchers confirmed that Karin looked unimpressed. She'd likely have words with him regarding the importance of staying in good condition. Worse still was that she would have a very good point. A few of those swipes had come unpleasantly close.

"Heh. Y'got a high opinion o' yerself there, Gen'ral. These ain't so big a problem fer me." He hefted his axe and gave an appraising look to the heads. Armand started preparing another spell.. just in case. A basic quake would destabilize his footing, but then… then what? Hm. He didn't actually want to kill the dwarf, but that might just be the only way to put him down.

His thought process was interrupted by Kenneth being launched into the air towards him. The heads moved automatically to snap at him as he passed between them. They disengaged from the core below and all went to leap after him; just as they'd been told to do.

It was an orgy of destruction. Armand flung himself back again with a quick spell directed at his feet and could only watch as the dwarf slapped aside the stone serpents with his axe as if they were barely more than loose leaves on the breeze. His every swing tore a off a jaw or ripped a huge gouge out of the belly of the specialized golems.

Armand was losing. The dwarf's strength and equipment flat-out trumped the physical power of his spells. But he couldn't afford to lose this battle. At this point the familiar had certainly proven himself, that much was beyond question, but he would be _damned_ if he was going to lose in front of his son. Not on this day.

The last stone beast was had its face split down the middle by an almighty cleave that shattered it down its length. No matter how sharp that axe apparently was it seemed that the strength of the wielder still made it more of a blunt weapon. He couldn't cut fast enough to avoid smashing whatever he hit. It was amazing to see.

However, Armand had one trump card left. It would burn out most of his remaining power but it would be well worth it. Kenneth turned, a feral grin on his face that surely matched the General's own, and began his final charge. In turn, his opponent raised his wand and prepared his last spell of the battle.

A bolt of lightning crossed the distance between the two in a flash of white light. It struck Kenneth's axe directly and the dwarf froze in place; shuddering violently as the Triangle spell earthed itself down through his arm and out his feet. Smoke rose from little wisps from his skin and beard until, finally, he keeled over backwards.

General Gramont collapsed on to his knees, breathing heavily. Air spells took it out of him enough at the best of times, but pulling that off likely meant he wouldn't be able to cast for several days. However, as he looked over and saw the awestruck expression of his son…

Yes, it was definitely worth it.

* * *

Guiche stared blankly at the scene before him. Apparently, his father had won. After a fight that had ruined the landscape in front of the school. A hectic and maddening combat that had, when it all came down to it, barely lasted a few minutes.

The Duchess Vallière was making disapproving sounds next to him but, even so, was still faintly smirking. She looked down to Guiche, her daughter and familiar then back to the battlefield.

"Attend to your familiar, boy, and I shall see to your father." Then she began to stride across the ravaged plain towards the kneeling figure of the General. Guiche didn't move for a few moments; he was still somewhat stunned by what had just happened.

"Saito?" Guiche's head snapped to one side, startled. It was only Louise, though; he'd forgotten she was there. "Fetch some water to drink, and a bucket with which to rouse Ser Kenneth." The exemplary familiar bowed deeply to her, and then hustled off to fulfill her command.

"Ah, thank you kindly, Louise." Finally, Guiche pulled himself out of his daze and started off after the Duchess; veering off towards his familiar instead. He could hear a low conversation starting between the two adults; Louise's mother chiding his own father for a certain lack of fitness, and demanding to know what he would have done if the bolt hadn't worked.

But it had, hadn't it? After all that… after how _effortless_ Kenneth had seen to every spell that his father had brought out he was laid low by a single Air spell. It wasn't even a favourable element! In fact, he knew for a fact that his father had great difficulty with it because every… said… so...

Oh. Of course. He _didn't_ have all that much difficulty with it, he just wanted it to be widely known that he did. An agile or flying enemy was a good counter for his father's Earth spells but one that was, in turn, easily defeated by the hard to avoid Lightning branch of Air magic. It was a tricky ability to learn, as well, let alone master.

Guiche found himself at Kenneth's side. The dwarf smelled of bacon. Again. He supposed that was what happened when you were struck by lightning. Barely daring to hope that he might be alright, Guiche tried to check to see if he was breathing. Fortunately, he was; although his eyes were closed. He had to be careful; the edge of that axe was still red-hot.

His armour was fine, though. The clay was slightly cracked in places, revealing something very black underneath that made Guiche's sinuses ache just from looking at it, but nothing had penetrated the surface. He had to be horribly bruised underneath, though; the General hadn't been pulling any punches.

Saito arrived shortly, although Louise was staying out of the battlefield, with a bucket of water and a number of rags. In lieu of drinking water, however, he'd brought a small wineskin. The two of them hunched over the squat figure as the familiar laid wet rags upon his compatriots forehead.

"He'll be fine." Guiche was doubly startled; he couldn't recall ever being directly spoken to by the curious young man that dogged Louise's every step. "Your father is certainly a great mage, but Ser Flamecutter earned his name fighting things far deadlier. His strength is not his physical power, but his fortitude."

"Thank you." It surprised even himself to hear those words. Between the two of them and a pair of Guiche's Bronze Valkyries they were able to get the dwarf up and start carrying him back to the academy. General Gramont met them along the way and walked alongside them in silence.

"He has my approval." Guiche looked up at his father, who wasn't facing him. "The dwarf conducted himself well during the conflict. He fought with all of his might and as a result I have no qualms with entrusting you to his care." There was a brief pause and then he did look to his son. More than that; he laid a hand on his shoulder.

"He is a good influence on you. More than that, he has given… no… he has shown me why I should have more faith in you. In all of you." The hand went away, but the warmth stayed. They finished their walk back to the Academy in silence.

"I had best see my familiar to the infirmary." His father nodded. It was right and proper. They parted ways there; the older man returning to his carriage and the younger taking the dwarf off to the increasingly familiar room. He'd visited it more times in the past week than he had in his entire time at the Academy.

The healer wasn't in, so Guiche sat beside his familiar on the bed while Saito went to find him. Louise had gone with her mother earlier, likely to have a quiet discussion on their own. Some minutes later a sound from the door made him look up; only to see his father standing in the doorway and clutching a long, wooden box. He marched over to his son; looking strangely nervous.

"Really, I've no idea why I brought this with me. I'd never expected to have cause to do this. However…" The box was pushed into Guiche's arms. It smelled vaguely familiar and brought back faint memories of a forgotten figure. "I do not think your brothers will begrudge this of me." Guiche opened it. Resting on the velvet pillows within was a beautifully crafted rapier. With some trepidation Guiche withdrew it from the box. It fitted well in his hand.

"It was your mother's, once; you have inherited more of her build than mine, I fear, but that merely means it will suit you well. Maximilien will inherit my father's wandblade instead, and be happy with that." Undoubtedly he would be. Guiche was… pleased wasn't the word. It wasn't merely well-made; it was a work of art. There was a sheath in the box as well. His father helped him secure it properly to the belt, and the blade slid quietly home.

"Suits you." It did, at that. The scabbard was covered with a white enamel, and the hilt was golden. Not true gold, of course, but it was meticulously adorned with the guard in a shape reminiscent of a rose. "She never told me where she got it." They stood there awkwardly for a time, until the General bowed his head and moved back.

"A discussion for another time. I'll be on my way, now. Send me invoices for anything your need and I'll take care of it." Guiche nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Soon enough his father was gone. He sat down heavily and rested his chin on his hands. What a day this had been.

"Well, tha' was touchin'." And then he nearly fell out of his chair as Kenneth suddenly sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. "Ah'm hungry. Let's raid th' kitchens, eh?" Suddenly the dwarf found himself with a stunned Guiche shoving his fingers in the short man's face.

"You! What! How! But you were!" Kenneth rolled his eyes as he pushed the hand out of the way so he could stand up and stretch a bit. His spine made horrible sounds when he leaned back as far as he could.

"Bah. S'long as ah've got one foot on the ground ah dun really care 'bout lightning strikes. 's what happens when yer dyin' and get put back t'gether by a frien'ly earth elemental." Which meant he'd been faking the entire time. Of course he had. That little… but Guiche's line of thought took a sharp turn as he came to wonder _why_ his familiar had faked his defeat.

"Aye, ye've got th' right of it, boy. 'twere more important t'yer dad tha' he win than 'twere t'me. Ah know ah'm strong. He was workin' through some things." Guiche nodded dumbly. A burly hand patted him on the shoulder and his familiar grinned up at him. "It all worked out in th' end, eh? C'mon, ah'm starvin'."

With a heavy sigh, Guiche followed the retreating back of his impossible familiar out of the room.


	7. Bronze and Suffering

Guiche was quite certain he'd never seen anyone able to pack in as much food as Kenneth. The sheer amount of morsels that he was able to devour in a single sitting was rather impressive. Entire roasts vanished down his gullet along with several gallons of ale. It was quite astounding.

"Ooooh, aye, tha' was just what ah needed. Y'not hungry, lad?" He shook his head. No, it was quite difficult to want anything after seeing his familiar eat. That would spoil anyone's appetite. He wasn't particularly messy, though, he just seemed to have infinite space and the ability to practically unhinge his jaw.

"You know, Ser Kenneth, you never quite explained what you meant about that elemental. Not the first time, or now." The dwarf paused mid-chomp on what appeared to be a full half a chicken. Guiche had initially no idea why they'd given him so much food until the dwarf had revealed that the school's funding was for a much larger body of students than they really had. Any excess was to be returned to the crown at the end of the year, so they didn't mind spending extra on food.

"Ah, ain't too much t'explain. Bunch o' jackasses broke inta a several t'ousand year ol' cavern an' shattered a bunch of flawless crystal formations. Ah tracked 'em down, brutally murdered 'em an' dragged their sorry carcasses back to th' cave." The very thought of such a thing, combined with his familiar's candid explanation, turned him a bit green.

"See, on Kelicho, elementals tend t'spawn in response t'nature bein' messed with. Earth're th' worst in my opinion. They're like them snakes yer pop pulled out t'day only about five times the size and a lot less friendly." Such a mental image was quite unreasonable. These 'elemental' things he'd described seemed akin to spirits, however, so he at least had a point of reference. Such creatures were notoriously fickle.

"But ah weren't quite on me best foot that day. One o' them cheeky bastards hit me with a gout o' Starlight afore ah went down." Guiche just had to raise an eyebrow at that, but Kenneth wagged a finger at him. "Ah know what ye're thinkin'. Trust me, ain't nobody sane on Kelicho as laughs at a Starlight mage. 's a nasty element t'work with; not as bad as some, but if y'slip up it'll kill ye just as same as the other guy. Case in point!"

By way of demonstration Kenneth, with some effort, managed to lift up his shirt. There was… it wasn't quite right to call it a scar. He'd never seen one so large before which made it hard to accept as being one. The flesh had gone leathery in a wide circle around the dwarf's stomach, and the centre was a dull brown colour and quite hard. If he'd had a belly button once it was long gone now.

"Tha' shit'll eat through a good inch of steel an' a foot o' stone wi'out slowin' down, and ah didn' have me current armour then. So ah well reckoned ah was gonna die." He hauled off his cloak and turned around, lifting up his vest at the back as well. There was a matching scar and strange discolouration. Smaller, certainly, but matching. Guiche pictured his familiar with the full wound, a hole seared clean through him, and had to resist the urge to retch a little.

"Aye, ye have th' right of it. Ah was a goner. But th' elemental, seems it recognized what ah'd done fer it. So it hacked out a lil' bit o' itself and shoved it inta me. Replaced me guts, an' ribs, an' spine an' whatnot. Feels weird, o' course, but ah can still eat an' piss an' all sorts o' other things ye needn't mind about, so seems it worked out." The ribald grin on Kenneth's face brought a flush of heat to Guiche's cheeks. He wasn't _that_ young!

"Plus, o' course, it helped out me magic a fair bit. Movin' earth 's easy as breathin' now, s'long as ah'm in touch wi' it." As well he'd demonstrated against Guiche's father. "An', as ah said, s'long as m'feet are on th' ground ah'm near immune t'lightning. Stings somethin' fierce, though. Plus ah'm just generally tougher, stronger, nastier, an' such." It was difficult to imagine how much worse the dwarf could have gotten… but, then again, he'd only seen him after this.

"Very well, I think I understand. This sort of thing is common where you come from?" Somewhat to his surprise, the dwarf shook his head. Violently. He took another large draft of ale and pulled his cloak back on before answering.

"Nay, lad. Elementals… they dinnae like people. Earth one won't last; it'll just eat th' miners an' collapse th' mine that woke it up, then rejoin th' land. My people are good at workin' stone wi'out pissin' them off." A useful trait for what had been explained to him as a race of mountain-dwelling artisans. "Water ones're th' most tame. Generally they'll just take all sea life within a good twenty miles of where they formed an' fuck right off, for good. Tends t'desroy most seaside communities. They'll come back, eventually, but inna meantime yer basic fishin' village is toast."

Ah. Yes, he could see why that would happen. No food, sure, but also their livelihood destroyed when they lost their main commodity. "Air, well, tha's interestin'. Quite rare until recently, see? Y'still don't see a lot of 'em, but when y'do 's around Stalis. All them big buildings pumpin' shit out inta th' world. One day some mobile cyclone shows up an' tears e'rrythin' t'shreds and there y'go."

The description alone was horrifying. Guiche knew of such things as grand storms and waterspouts from tales his father's various friends had shared at the dinner table, but they were rare in Tristain. Indeed, fairly rare in the mainland of Halkegenia; you only heard of such things happening in far off lands. "Nature ain't so bad. They'll leave y'alone, right enough. But just imagine bein' in a forest, right?"

Guiche did so. It wasn't hard. "Now, imagine e'rry tree, plant, bush, branch an' anything leafy or green that y'lay eyes upon is tryin' to kill ye." There was a soft whimper from that he realized was coming from himself. His familiar chuckled deeply and polished off his drink.

"Ah, well. Ah'll nae scare y'any more. 'tain't productive. Ye've done well these past few days. Even stood up t'yer father. Seems y'might have earned his respect some, if ah'm any judge." The dwarf leaned over, eyeing the rapier on Guiche's belt. After a moment of embarrassment, Guiche realized what he was getting at.

"Oh, yes. Well. This was my mother's. He said it would suit me." Like a diligent student Guiche unbuckled the weapon and presented it to his familiar for inspection. Kenneth wiped his hands off on his shirt, and then on a nearby washcloth after Guiche gave him a hard look, before taking the weapon in hand and drawing it.

"Fuck me." The dwarf's eyes widened. "This is… this is carbonised adamant. Ah didn't even know y'had it here." But Guiche's look of confusion said more than he ever could, and Kenneth's look of surprise turned to one of suspicion. He raised the sword up and, before Guiche could so much as cry out for him to stop, drove it directly into the ground.

It punched right through the flagstone beneath it with barely more than a whisper of metal on stone. Guiche gaped silently as Kenneth withdrew it and began to study it more carefully. "Adamant's tricky t'work with. More 'f a crystal than a metal. Carbonising it is best; makes it nigh indestructible. Good for stabbing weapons. Channels magic, too, an' real good at that. Probably works for yer sort quite well, ah'd imagine. Gotta make ye a proper set…"

He trailed off into silence as he stared at the hilt. It was truly beautiful; a work of art. Delicately crafted leaves became petals and formed the rose-shape that became the pommel. Even then it wasn't gilded or filigreed; just good metal polished until it shone. Nevertheless, the dwarf sat there in silence. Eventually Guiche moved over and patted his arm.

"... Ser Kenneth?" No response. He tried again, somewhat more forcefully. "Kenneth! Are you alri-..." The words died in his mouth as he finally saw it. Thick, heavy tears pouring down his familiar's face. This was… he had no words for it. Unprecedented seemed too mild a term. Then the dwarf opened his mouth and the words that came out were hoarse and pained.

"My wife is going to make this." That was all he said. Guiche didn't understand it. He stared blankly for a time and, when that didn't work, allowed himself a tentative work.

"You mean, she made…?" Slowly, ever so slowly, Kenneth shook his head. Then he rotated the blade so Guiche could see what he was looking at. The maker's mark, carefully engraved on the inside of the guard in runes that the young noble couldn't read.

"That's her name. Red. Just her name. She was never ostentatious with ones like these. Felt it… it diminished the work. Name and date; so it was known who made it, and when." A sinking feeling gathered in Guiche's chest. Kenneth had said… "The date is some ten years distant from when ah… ah left."

Oh, by the Founder. This… this was _very bad_. Guiche didn't understand how, or why, or any of those things. He just knew that something horrible had just happened. "Ah… ah had a suspicion this might be th' case. Didn't ask th' boy th' year he left. Didn't want t'know. But if this… this is... " When his familiar looked up at him Guiche thought his heart might have stopped.

He'd seen that face only once before now, and it had been that very same day. It had existed, for the briefest moment, on the face of his father when he'd spoken of… of a woman that Guiche had never known. It spoke of a pain that was beyond his comprehension. All he could do was lay a hand on the squat figure's shoulder. It didn't feel like it was enough.

"She didn't make this with my help. Ah can tell. Might mean ah got back, an' was away again. But like as not, yer world an' mine ain't connected properly. Even if ah ever do get home… best odds is that she'll either have been dead for centuries, or ain't even born yet." He slid the rapier back into its sheath and offered it to Guiche. After a moment's hesitation the young man took it from him.

They remained there in silence for some time; a tableau of suffering. After a moment, Guiche tried to speak. To find the words he needed to say more than anything else in this moment.

"Kenneth, I-" A hand wrapping around his throat caught him off guard and cut him off at the same time. Two bloodshot eyes, stained with loss, glared at him through the mess of red hair around Kenneth's face.

"Don't. You. Dare." The tone was low, and truly harsh. His familiar had struck him, laid him low and berated him for his callous actions and even in those moments he hadn't sounded so… so hateful as this. "Ain't your fault, boy. Ah realize that, intellectually speakin', y'didn't choose me. But ah think that, in this moment, ye'd best just turn around an' walk out of this room 'cause if ye say **another damn word** ah might just gut ye where ye stand. Got it?"

He couldn't nod, but Kenneth released him anyway. Guiche landed heavily, coughing up a fit, but didn't stay where he was. Instead he pulled himself to his feet and left the room. The last he saw of his familiar that night was the dwarf cracking open another barrel of ale, and not even bothering with a tankard.

 _Dwarf of Bronze: End of Act One_


	8. Bronze and Obligation

"Kill! Not a bad shot, boy."

Saito fell back, pressing one hand to his chest as Kenneth looked on approvingly. Guiche straightened his stance back to the ready position and grinned at his familiar. After a week of sparring he'd scored his first decisive hit against his sparring partner. From the sidelines, Louise and Montmorency booed and cheered respectively; the former disparaging her own familiar and the latter supporting her beloved.

Guiche gave a flourish and a bow; only to be caught in the stomach by a sharp kick from Saito that knocked him down and on to his back. The young man dropped to one knee and slammed his knuckle dagger into the ground beside his head. "And that'd be a kill as well." Montmorency pouted.

"That's not fair! He wasn't ready. Hmph." She got up and moved over, wand already out, to begin healing Guiche's bruises; although not the deeper injuries. Kenneth had asked a bunch of questions she didn't really understand about how healing worked and then forbidden her from fixing any soreness or damage to the young man's muscles; he'd been taking these foul-smelling potions the dwarf brewed up instead.

"Bah. If he's in a real fight then th' next guy won't just wait for him to be ready! Well… except when they do, but if'n that's the case then he's already won the battle." Guiche winced slightly as the memory of being forced to do battle against all six of his basic Valkyries simultaneously came back to him; his familiar had said the point was to make an abject lesson as to the nature of real combat. Even if they'd only been using sticks that had still really hurt.

"Nevertheless, it was a fair blow Master Gramont." Saito stepped forward to pat the young man on the shoulder, idly tapping at his chest. "By the sharp pain I'm feeling I suspect that sir's real weapon would have likely penetrated my spine." Ah… yes. The ridiculously sharp sword that was currently being held by Kenneth; he'd offered to keep it until Guiche actually needed it.

It was a point he hadn't contested. Even if there was a certain attachment to it in his heart the sheer value of the item meant he felt it was safer in his familiar's hands. If there was a being in this world capable of taking it off Kenneth then Guiche really, _really_ did not want to meet them.

In many ways it didn't feel like it had been nearly two weeks since the Familiar Summoning Ceremony. There had been very few changes to his physique, apart from a slight yet noticeable widening in his waistline. He'd complained about that at first; only to have the horrified realization that doing such might make his Familiar give him an extra ten laps in his morning run or what have you.

His brief fears were completely unfounded, however. Kenneth had merely nodded approvingly and continued with the routine without any deviation. In fact, the only adjustments he'd made to Guiche's daily exercises so far was to _decrease_ them from time to time. He had no idea why, but suspected it had something to do with how Saito was keeping a hawk-like eye on him almost constantly during the day.

When he'd tried asking his familiar about it there had been something about rest periods and micro-tears and overstressing and then his eyes had just sort of glazed over until the dwarf's mouth had stopped moving. The only bit he'd heard was Kenneth's rather insistent demand that he not attempt to train any on his own.

"... Montmorency." His beloved flower turned and gave Louise a typically arch look. Guiche winced a little; she was quite dissatisfied with how close he'd been growing to the pink-haired girl. Although he'd tried telling her that it was nothing like that he couldn't precisely explain why he'd grown fond of her.

"Yes, _Ze-_ " The words died in her throat before she could finish the insult. Saito had subtly stepped into her line of sight and she turned a little whiter in response. There had been a few… displays recently. Just the other day an older student had, as a 'joke', launched some food at Louise with a simple air spell.

Saito had snatched a steak knife off the table and speared it out of the air with a quick throw. Some were still talking about it in hushed tones; his legend had only grown once the display of archery last week had become common knowledge. There had been some suggestions that he wasn't a true familiar at all, but some foreign mercenary or assassin hired by the family to masquerade as Louise's summon.

His friend was thoroughly unamused by the suggestions, although her familiar was taking them in stride. He'd even confided in Guiche somewhat when he'd informed him that his skills weren't anything to speak of in his homeland; the greatest bowmen were the apparently titanic Northern Azekarans who supposedly stood over two metres tall on average and used tremendous greatbows that could reliably hit targets up to half a kilometre distant.

That had been the day that Guiche finally realized just how warped the scale of 'skill' that Saito and Kenneth used were. His familiar's frequent statements of 'not bad' or 'just about passable' were thus suddenly transformed in his ears to 'good' and 'outstanding' respectively. If Kenneth ever legitimately said that he was good then he was sure that his performance would have likely surpassed his father's.

Well, maybe not quite that bad. Even so! He'd only been sparring for Saito for an hour or so after classes ended each day. The young man had no formal melee training whatsoever but he was fast and strong. He fought by instinct only, not training, and Kenneth said that made him a perfect starting partner; the majority of his opponents would have little to no formal training.

The issue was retraining Guiche's instincts. Really, it was more just plain training them; he had no particular instincts to speak of. Apart from an ingrained instinct to stick his arms in front of his face when something was coming for it that Kenneth had thoroughly trained out of him by swinging random punches for his head during the course of the week.

As Louise badgered Montmorency into healing her familiar too Guiche had a brief moment of existential terror as he suddenly understood, with perfect clarity, what his life had become. Then he bowed to his opponent and walked over to Kenneth.

"Yer done for the afternoon, then?" Surprisingly, the question _was_ legitimate. He was perfectly willing to let Guiche keep fighting for as long as he liked since he'd just adjust the warm-down exercises accordingly. It was up to him to know his own limits; another important lesson hard learned on the first day of practice. By the time he'd finally said he'd had enough the sun had gone down and they'd missed dinner.

That had been an… _interesting_ evening.

* * *

"Ser Kenneth, I'm not sure this is such a good idea." The dwarf was dragging him directly towards the kitchens for their late dinner. Guiche was keenly aware of just how out of place he was in the servants' areas, even if he was currently caked in dirt and sweat. There was just a gap between the classes here that he felt rather uncomfortable about.

That is to say, Saito was certainly a fine servant and all but he… well, he seemed to know where he stood. At his core the young man understood the way of the world and his position within it. That made him, well, nonthreatening. He was vaguely aware that there existed those who resented the position of the Nobility, however, and that knowledge made him feel increasingly out of place as they grew nearer to the kitchen.

Kenneth was perfectly at home in every situation, though. He responded to most social mores by completely ignoring them and instituting his own strange code of behaviour in their place. That seemed to endear him to the commoners, given the boisterous reply he got from the cook as he called out to him on their entry.

"Kenneth! Well met again! Here to eat me out of house and home once more?" The man turned and, with a quick swipe of his massive cleaver, carved a leg off a pork roast. His blade looked brand new, and it shone with a luster that Guiche recognized as being the strange steel that his familiar brewed up in his magical crucible. Then, as the cook brought the leg over with a tankard of ale, he caught sight of Guiche.

The reaction wasn't what he'd expected. Really, he'd expected a transition from jovial to overly polite. Instead he got an angrily pointed finger and a hateful scowl. "What," He began, through gritted teeth, "is _he_ doing here?" The man pushed forward and glared at the young noble. "I'll not have _him_ in my kitchen!" Kenneth stuck an arm out to block the rather large person's path and shot him a look.

"Easy, Marteau; easy. He dinnae mean ye any harm." That didn't seem to mollify the chef at all. He was clutching at his cleaver so hard that his knuckles were turning white around the handle. Guiche felt justifiably terrified by the outpouring of antagonism.

"Ah… uh… please, good sir, I've no idea wh-" He didn't even finish the sentence before he'd had to leap back when the man tried to charge forward with a furious yell. Of course hs familiar had easily blocked the charge, but even so! The servant had just tried to assault him. "Kenneth! Why… you… don't just stand there! I demand yo-"

"Boy." He froze, mid-demand. "Easy. Same goes for you, Marteau. Tha' were a damn fool thing ye just did." The chef had gone paler, certainly, but the veins poking out of his forehead still indicated how furious he was. Guiche had never seen anyone quite so angry.

"He… he don't even care what he's done! Y'know I have nothing but respect for you but that little _bastard_ ain't welcome anywhere near my kitchen. I've got daughters in here, Kenneth." The dwarf's shoulders sagged, and he shot a look back at Guiche. Then, with one powerful arm, he pushed the chef back down into his seat.

"Take a nip o' yer tonic, Marteau, an' a few deep breaths. Ah'll take th' boy out an' have a few words with him. When we get back in ye _will_ be calm, an' ye'll listen to what he has to say." After a tense moment the chef allowed for a terse nod, and Kenneth dragged Guiche out of the kitchen by way of the back door.

The first thing that the young man did once they were outside was immediately attempt to storm off in a huff. He was stopped by a firm grasp on his shoulder before he got any distance. "An' where d'you think yer goin', boy?" The young man spun on his heel and flung his hands in the air.

"To the Headmaster, to get that brute ejected from his position! He tried to attack me! I demand you let go of me this instant, Kenneth!" Rather than loosen the dwarf's grip just tightened on his shoulder. Not enough to be painful, but certainly enough to hold him in place.

"No, y'ain't." Guiche found himself flung over Kenneth's shoulder, again, and carried away amidst his furious protests until they reached one of the various courts. He was dropped down into a seat, and then Kenneth shouldered off his slab before taking one as well. The noble glared at him. "Cut tha' out. All o' this outrage an' ye ain't e'en considered the _why_ of it, boy."

The statement brought Guiche up short. His initial retort, that any 'why' was irrelevant when a servant tried to harm a noble, died on his tongue. He wracked his brain, trying to think what could have caused such vitriol; Kenneth wouldn't have stopped him if it wasn't important, surely? The particulars of what had been said reverberated in his brain.

"... what, is this about that servant girl?" His familiar sighed, and he shied away a little. Usually that sigh preceded either a lecture or a forceful behavioural correction. Alternatively known as a smack about the head. Guiche waved vaguely in the direction of the kitchens. "I don't see why he should be so mad at me for it." Kenneth sighed again, resting his face in his hand.

"Ye've come a long way, boy. Ah gotta remind meself of that sometimes. Particularly when ah hear some of th' ignorant shite that comes out of yer mouth." Guiche bristled at the words, still not grasping what his familiar was trying to get at, when a gauntleted hand was held up to still him. "Ah shan't try an' make ye question th' foundation of yer society. Ye ain't nearly ready for that just yet. However..."

He found himself fixed with a hard look again. Guiche hated these moments, where Kenneth reminded him in so many ways of his father. Usually the dwarf did his best to make him feel... large. Like he was worth something. But in these moments, when his disapproval radiated out of that gaze, Guiche just felt so small.

"Nobility obliges, boy. By th' very rights ye lay claim to in order t'punish tha' man, ye owe him a duty to him an' his as well. Yer word could more'n ruin him; if he loses his job tha'd be th' _least_ o' it, an 'e knows it." There was something unsaid in there. Guiche did his best to piece together the message kept between the words. Crickets began to fill the silence around them.

"... oh." He looked up at his familiar, concern forming on his face. For the man's rage to overwhelm his caution… "What... what has happened to her?" Kenneth granted him a look of slight respect, the weight of his judgment lifting off his young charge.

"She's traumatized, boy. They reassigned her t' the women's wing exclusively 'cause she's terrified 've menfolk now. Tha' dinnae exactly paint a stellar picture o' ye." Guiche rankled at the implications of that. He'd not done anything so vulgar to her as… as _that_. Certainly, he was aware that some lesser Nobles were said… to… ah. Realization dawned in his face, and Kenneth nodded.

"Aye, ye have it lad. She dinnae wish t'speak of it, an' ah've nae said anythin' to 'em. So they've assumed th' worst of ye. An', fact o' th' matter is tha' ye still _attacked_ her o'er a trifling matter." Once more the young man bristled at his familiar's statements. He had, perhaps, been somewhat heavy-handed with the girl but he was certainly within his rights to be! Yet… something about the dwarf's disapproving gaze made him feel that thought process wasn't right.

Kenneth sighed, shaking his head. Then he leaned forward and patted Guiche on the shoulder. "Yer young. An' yer still learnin', ah wager. Ah cannae expect ye t'come to th' right path on yer own. That'd be unfair on ye. What sorta person would berate someone fer not following a code o' ethics they ain't never been exposed to?" Guiche nodded, slowly.

"I am afraid that I do not understand your meaning, no. But I should like to try to; as it would seem whatever I have done wrong has caused you to lose respect for me." That was about all he could say on the matter. Whatever it was that his familiar was trying explain simply escaped him.

"Aye, fair enough. Ah'll put it to ye plain; ye disrespected that young lady's personage, an' then thought nothin' of it again 'cause she weren't a noble. Ye never would do such a thing to th' likes of Montmorency, or Louise. An' tha's not right." Guiche stared blankly at him for a few moments. Well, the dwarf was half right? Of course he wouldn't do that to them. They were proper ladies, and deserved far better treatment.

Kenneth saw the noncomprehension in his face and shook his head slowly. "Look. Y'did wrong. Ah am tellin' ye so. Tha' means yer gonna come with me and apologize as sincerely as y'can do, an' we'll leave it at tha' fer now. Okay?" Slowly, Guiche nodded. Perhaps he didn't uderstand the situation at all but her certainly respected Kenneth's judgement. After what he'd put the dwarf through, having to lose to his father and all, he certainly owed him this much at least.

The two returned to a much quieter, calmer kitchen. The cook still looked a little red faced, but it seemed to be from the nip of tonic as opposed to blinding fury. Kenneth began the dialogue this time. "Now, Marteau, ah'll tell ye plain; 'tain't what yer thinkin' at all. Th' boy did wrong by the girl, but not tha' wrong. He ain't the sort. An' ah know this fer a fact 'cause ah saw it, and ah stopped him afore he struck 'er."

Although the large man still appeared quite upset he was at least somewhat mollified by that. Kenneth shot a look at Guiche, the forcefulness of his brief glare impressing the importance of true sincerity on the young man. He stepped passed his familiar, swallowing hard. If Kenneth could suppress his pride as a warrior for the sake of his pupil, then he would do the same for the sake of hs teacher.

Guiche bowed to the servant.

"I apologise for my ignoble conduct. Through my actions I have brought shame upon myself, my family name, and the very meaning of nobility. I pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive my thoughtless actions." There was absolute silence. He could've heard a pin drop. After a long pause he finally straightened up, as his back was starting to ache a little.

The cook was staring at him, slack-jawed, in abject amazement. Guiche turned to look behind him. Kenneth was grinning from ear to ear, looking more proud than he'd ever seen him before. The dwarf stepped up and clapped him firmly on the back, quite nearly knocking him over.

"So, Marteau, how 'bout some proper grub, eh?"

* * *

Once the chef had recovered from his shock it had actually been a pleasant evening. He'd said he would carry Guiche's apology on to the servant girl, whose name was apparently Siesta of Tarbes. Not long after that he'd learned that the only man she could really stand right now was Saito, for some reason, and that had made his blood run cold.

He glanced over at the retreating back of the impeccable servant. Yes, Guiche was _extremely_ glad that Saito didn't seem to be capable of holding grudges, because he was terrifying enough when he was trying to be helpful.

"Yes, Ser Kenneth, I am done for the afternoon. Shall we?" He assumed the position for his proper warm-down stretches as Kenneth began to narrate the proper routine for him. Then it'd be a dose of that foul potion the familiar made, and finally they could go to dinner. Oh, and he could have a bath. He only had time for one a day, now, although Kenneth would douse him with cold water after his morning exercises to get the smell out.

Guiche shuddered. For as grateful as he was for his familiar's help the man was still an absolute barbarian. As he considered this, something caught his eye. Curious. A carriage he didn't recognize was being brought through the gates. An impeccably dressed man with a rather nice ruffled collar stepped out and began an imperious stride across the grounds. He cast a snide look down his nose at Guiche as he passed on the path, and turned away as if smelling something bad.

The young man felt rather insulted by that. Whomever this visitor may be, they were a good five metres away on the path _and_ the wind was blowing towards him, not away. Hmph. He got up from his stretches just in time to see Headmaster Osmond coming out of the main building to greet the guest. Kenneth frowned faintly.

"Ey, boy. Y'know anythin' about a 'foe-kway?" Guiche stared blankly at his familiar while he tried to translate through Kenneth's atrocious accent. "Seems they've made some threats 'gainst th' school, an' th' Count Wossname there 'as been sent wi' a couple o' Earth mages t'check on th' vault." Ah! That must be the Royal Messenger, then, the Count de Mott.

"Ah, you must be speaking of the legendary thief, Fouquet the Crumbling Dirt. They must be taking this threat quite seriously, then, to send him." Guiche perked up. Perhaps the thief might come, and he could apprehend them! It would be his first step on the road to heroism. Kenneth made an odd little grumble, however. "Is something the matter, good Ser?"

"It may be so, boy. Ah cannae tell yet." The Count flourished his cape and strode past the Headmaster toward the entrance. "He seems a right tit, tha' one. Demanded th' finest suite an' all. Heh." Kenneth grinned widely. "Joke's on him, ah've got tha' one!" A vision of catastrophe appeared in Guiche's mind at that moment. Yes, that was certainly true; after Kenneth's demonstration against his father and explanation of his rough status as a Knight-Errant he had been given the finest rooms to reflect that.

Rooms that the Count de Mott would be used to occupying, go directly to, and likely find occupied. Oh dear. This was not going to end well.


	9. Bronze and Hidden Meaning

"Ah do apologize fer takin' yer rooms, Count; if ah'd known ye took 'em regularly ah'd have taken a lesser domicile." As it turned out, there was not a massive diplomatic incident. The visions he'd had of Kenneth dividing the man in twain with his axe when the insults began flying didn't come to fruition. Instead he was faced with a bizarre scene that almost defied his comprehension. That being one of someone else _kissing up to his familiar_. It was uncanny, unthinkable, and generally just plain weird.

"Oh, 'tis no trouble Master Dwarf. In truth, the suite on the other side has a much more pleasant view in the mornings in my opinion; I don't especially enjoy sunlight in my face as I awake." The Count de Mott wasn't being particularly obvious about it, yet Guiche could recognize the signs. He was being warm, polite and generally speaking to the dwarf as if he were an equal. The young noble just couldn't understand it. He watched with interest as the two conversed in Kenneth's, frankly rather fine, room; over tea.

"Haha, yer too kind. Ah realize ah've put ya out a bit." The Count waved off the objection, and poured another cup for the smaller man. Kenneth had cleaned up somewhat; not as much as he had for the General, though. Guiche had put much more effort in when he'd realized they were going to visit the man; hoping he could calm the situation.

"I was astonished to find that the young Lord de Gramont had called upon so prestigious an entity. After all, your kind are renowned for their work with earth and metal; though, I admit, none have been seen since Brimir's day." That much was true. Guiche had done research of his own after the first night and found very little on the subject.

"You do me a kindness, Count de Mott; the quality of my familiar speaks only to his own talents, and not my own." Self-deprecation was an important part of noble discussions. One must be humble, and not talk oneself up too much. Kenneth didn't seem to entirely agree with that, as he clapped his young charge firmly on the back before retorting.

"Bah. Th' lad may have 'is flaws, but ah'm working on buffin' them out. Ah'll make a diamond of him yet." He flushed, turning away but smiling slightly. That was high praise coming from him. At times Guiche didn't feel quite so sure of his own potential; as of late there'd been a few doubts in that regard.

"I'm glad to hear it. In fact, this encounter is most fortuitous! Perhaps you can help me solve a minor mystery." Mott snapped his fingers, and one of his various omnipresent attendants stepped forward with a small wooden box. Upon taking hold of it he withdrew a plain, broad-bladed dagger and laid it upon the table. The atmosphere thickened noticeably.

"I acquired this at a certain shop in the capital. They had many such items there, all of _superb_ quality. However, they were loath to divulge their supplier to me. Seems that they are currently under suspicion of smuggling in arms from Germania… a serious offence, if true." Kenneth leaned over and picked up the weapon. Then, much to Guiche's surprise, he began to twirl it in his hand; moving it over his palm and spinning it between his fingers in a surprising display of dexterity that ended with him balancing it by the point on the tip of his right thumb.

The dwarf then flipped it over and put it down, before pulling off his glove and grinning to himself. There was, on the tip of his thumb, a small drop of blood welling up. Kenneth's leather gloves were quite thick, and Guiche certainly didn't recognize the animal they came from, so he was quite surprised by that.

"Well, seems yer suspicion 's confirmed there, Count. 's me handiwork, right enough. Ah entered inta a lil' deal wi' th' man so as t'lessen th' burden o' me wages on ol' Guiche here." If the young man didn't know better he'd have sworn that Kenneth's accent had only gotten thicker as the conversation went on. Curious. The Count de Mott, meanwhile, smiled beatifically at the news.

"Oh, very good, very good. I had thought the craftsmanship was too high quality even for Germania. The edge is _superb_. I assume you used some sort of alchemical strengthening?" Kenneth chuckled and shook his head, wagging a finger at the Count as if admonishing a small child.

"Ah, Count, yer three hundred years too young t'get me t'reveal mah secrets so easily." The older noble allowed a wry chuckle and a friendly smile. Then his expression became a little sharper. He leaned forward, steepling his hands together with elbows rested upon his knees.

"Indeed, perhaps it is so. However, I might make a suggestion to you; I have a number of contacts in various places that could be beneficial to your business arrangements. With the superb quality of your creations we could charge a small fortune for the pieces." Mott waved a silk-gloved hand as he spoke, smoothing back the ruffles on his immaculate clothing.

"Ah do apologize, Count, but ah sign'ed a contract wiv th' man, an' 'twould be a great unkindness t'abandon him just fer th' sake o' profit. Ah've little need fer such wealth." The Count nodded, slightly saddened it seemed, but keeping up good spirits. Then he stood up, dusting off his immaculate pant legs.

"Understandable! And a commendable position as well. Now then; I shall tarry no longer; it is getting on, and I must conduct my inspection tour tomorrow morning! Thank you for your courtesy." He straightened up and headed for the door, one of his attendants moving to open it for him. As he was about to leave he half-turned, as if captured by a thought.

"It is fortunate I ran into you here, Master Dwarf; that poor merchant was likely to face severe penalties otherwise. Smuggling usually carries a fine and confiscation, but arms smuggling, and with Germania of all places, would likely have been a treason charge. Most fortunate. Good evening." And then he was gone. Guiche nodded to himself.

"He certainly seemed nice. This could be good! Perhaps I might have begun to build connections of my very own. What do you think Kenne-" His words died in his throat when he turned to his familiar. In sharp contrast with Guiche's good feelings the dwarf had a sour expression, and was staring thoughtfully at the doorway.

"Aye, lad. He certainly was… slick." Guiche didn't quite understand what lubrication had to do with the Count, but the context and expression made him feel like that was meant to be some sort of disparaging statement. "Ah'd prefer it if ye dinnae speak t'him if ah'm not around. If ye have to, though… make polite small talk, do not commit to anythin', and try t'make an excuse t'leave as soon as ye can." The young noble raised an eyebrow at his familiar's curious statements.

"I don't quite understand the wariness, Kenneth. Given he is an adult and I am but a young man then, well, of course any interaction he has with me will be mostly political in nature…" Kenneth dipped his head in approval of startlingly realistic understanding of the situation. "But he seemed pleasant enough, surely? Rather, I think you were a little rude to dismiss his offer to do business so out of hand." The dwarf shrugged.

"Ah said what ah thought an' meant it, boy. Ah keep my word. But did ya notice that remark he gave as he left?" Well, of course he had. Guiche had thought it was a nice sentiment to express, yet Kenneth seemed to be disagreeing? He felt like he was in over his head again. "Hm. Maybe ah'm too on edge. 's been a long day. Y'get yer rest, boy, an' ah'll see ya in th' morn."

Guiche left the dwarf to his own devices, which seemed to mostly consist of perpetually working on something. If he wasn't carving out a few extra stone beads, even if he never seemed to add any to his beard, he was making some little figurine or mixing some new configuration of metals and chemicals. It seemed everyone had decided to very politely not say anything about the little idol he'd set up on a table in the corner; while it was undoubtedly some pagan deity he also wasn't a human, so that probably meant he wasn't capable of being a heathen by definition alone.

Falling onto his own soft bed was so relaxing that Guiche almost forgot to change into his nightclothes and take his evening potion. Whenever he drank the disgusting concoction he always felt the need to take a mouthful of something sweet afterwards; in fact, he'd acquired a small pottle of honey for that very purpose. Brimir only knew when Kenneth found the time to put the damn thing on his end table. Although, at least it soothed the aching deep in his muscles enough for him to sleep.

Still, he laid awake in bed for a few minutes longer than usually. Ordinarily he would have been asleep within moments of his head striking the pillow and closing his eyes. This time, however, the parting words of his familiar rang in his head. In this particular instance, he decided, Kenneth's feelings were unfounded. The Count had been nothing but polite and understanding about the situation.

Yes, his familiar was a mighty hero; but that very nature was working against him here. He was looking for enemies in every corner. There was no need to be so adversarial; particularly not with his fellow nobles.

* * *

When Saito of Hiraga awoke it was perhaps three quarters of an hour before first light. His natural sleep rhythm quickly brought him from slumber to wakefulness and, equally quickly, brought his hands to the weapons placed within easy reach. Once his highly-tuned senses had determined that he had not been awoken due to an abnormal sound, smell or light he began his day in earnest.

Within five minutes of awakening he had rinsed his face, laid out his clothes, and moved out to the servant's bathing area. The school's magical nature meant that even the common staff were afforded the opportunity for warm baths on a daily basis; even if not all of them availed themselves of such. He did so twice a day, and felt no guilt for doing so.

Once he was fully clean and dried he performed a cursory examination of his body. There were no lingering aches, no fresh wounds, and the markings on his right hand that indicated the nature of his existence remained unchanged. After Louise's mother had left she had finally completed the contract with him and he had acquired these 'familiar runes'.

Back in his room, a very small yet private one he had been afforded by dint of being a personal servant to a noble student, he pulled a large clay pot from under his bed and began applying the substance therein to his body with great care. It took a small amount of time to dry, but once it had the various other markings on his skin were concealed; although the contours of the scars beneath were still clearly visible.

The pot went away, and he finally dressed himself. Other servants were just now rising, or going to bed in some cases, and the day was truly beginning. He had a number of tasks to perform. First and foremost was the kitchen. The cook was allowed the smallest of nods in greeting before he availed himself of the morning's ingredients in order to prepare breakfast for his contracted mistress.

In the beginning the tyrant of the kitchen had been rather insulted at Saito's insistence that he cook for his owner. However, the basic argument that it was no slight against the skills of the cook but rather his distrust for the nobility of this school had seemed to sway the man. The sheer level of naive foolishness was mindboggling. For all of his… _nature_ the Lord Hiraga would never have been quite so careless with his own children.

Saito had estimated that, if he was so ordered, he could eliminate perhaps a third of the next generation of ruling class within the space of a single breakfast with no more than the ingredients readily available to him in the main larder. If he was allowed to use his own private collection of herbs then there would not be a single survivor. Since arriving he had acquired a wonderfully extensive selection of various poisonous plants from the local forest with minimal effort.

Thus far he had refrained from suggesting to the young mistress that she engage in such behaviour, however. He had no wish to be so presumptuous. If she required his services then she would simply ask for such. In the meantime he would complete his appointed tasks with the proper diligence and efficiency.

He left the plate in the kitchen with subtle adjustments to its positioning and the cover on top such that he would be immediately aware of any tampering upon his return. Should there be any evidence when he returned then there would be a deep toll cut from the body of the one responsible. After affirming their actual guilt, of course.

Louise awoke gracelessly when roused, as usual, and he finished laying out her clothing for the day before she had crawled out of bed. As she reached for the handle he opened the door for her from the other side, allowed a three-quarters bow, and took up stance behind her as she strode through the corridors. Her imperiousness needed a bit of work if she was to match the standard set by her mother but she was coming along nicely, on the whole.

As they entered the dining hall, and he dutifully assisted her in sitting properly, there were a few faint murmurs that just barely entered into Saito's hearing; unintentionally, he was sure. For a moment he considered seizing the nearest steak knife and presenting his mistress with the severed tongues of the three most vocal malcontents; but then thought better of it, as he did not have a change of clothes at the ready.

Today she did not wish him to accompany her to class. This was concerning, but not unusual. Many days Louise would grow uncomfortable with his constant attendance and seek time alone. He allowed this to a degree; she was still young, and her many future rivals seemed as naive as her. Which is to say, his network of servant informants kept an eye on her in exchange for the various little 'favours' he acquired for them.

With that done he was more or less at his leisure. He wouldn't leave the academy today, in case the tell-tale sound of an explosion informed him that Louise needed his assistance in tidying up another destroyed classroom, so instead he would observe the newcomer and try to gauge just how much of a potential threat they were.

The Count seemed harmless. Lecherous, perhaps. Scheming, most definitely. Devious? Absolutely. But harmless. From the looks he gave to the maids, and the Headmaster's secretary, there was a certain 'type' that he had which Louise most definitely did not fill. Saito followed at a discreet distance and relied on his finely tuned hearing to gather information.

"I understand this is a great inconvenience to you, Osmond, but we're taking the threat seriously. If anyone figured out how to get into your vault it would be him." Referencing the magical sneak-thief who had become a figure of legend amongst the serving class. Their abilities meant they could only be a noble, but their habit of targeting the nobility exclusively still made them somewhat of a folk hero.

"Mm, yes, well that's as may be, Count. I'm assured by my staff that the structure remains perfectly sound; although, obviously, I can no more verify personally that than you could." The Headmaster was an Air mage, that much Saito knew. Likely skilled, but undoubtedly less so than Her Grace.

"Indeed; I brought a number of diviners with me to verify that. I'd also like to inspect the door, and inside if that is possible?" He'd checked the Vault himself, once, and found it to be more or less impregnable. Some very powerful magic was infused into its stones, sealing and binding them together with a hardness similar to crystallized adamant.

If he were to break into it himself, and had no readily accessible source of Ether, then he'd need brute force an order of magnitude above that which even Flamecutter could bring to bear; although his prodigious might, Earth-aligned nature and Tul'vakai bone axe would likely make up the difference. A certain professional curiosity lead him to wonder how this 'Crumbling Earth' might do it. Perhaps-

A small, blue-haired shape interrupted his thoughts with a sharp yet silent gust of wind that struck him in the shoulder. He was slammed back against the wall of the corridor he lurked in and, in a moment, found he had the crook of a curved staff pressed up against his neck.

"Who do you work for?" Ah. This was the individual that had been watching him these past weeks. He'd noticed her keeping a curious eye on him but had mistakenly assumed it to be no more than a certain girlish curiosity. That had been a mistake. If Her Grace had detected some of his underlying nature then, naturally, those even more in tune with him could do so as well.

This one was quite good, in fact. As he looked into her icy expression Saito found no fear, nor remorse, nor mercy. She was very willing to kill him where he stood. In fact, he estimated that her nature ran even deeper than his; there was some underlying force in there. A driving pain that gave her a far greater fervor than he could match.

Still, he wasn't overly concerned with his situation. If she began an attack he would simply move forward slightly. The spell, most likely some form of ice spear or dagger, would thus penetrate his windpipe cleanly but miss his spine and any major veins at this angle; whereas his own knife, neatly concealed in his sleeve, would easily open up the vein on the side of her neck. While she recoiled in shock he could then slide his knife between the third and fourth ribs at a slightly downwards angle and pierce her heart.

Disposal of the body would be a little more difficult, but he was confident in his ability to reduce her to chunks small enough to discretely bury in the compost heap without discovery before they had rotted down; so long as he removed the teeth and destroyed the skull enough to conceal the humanity of the remains. The hardest part of all would be performing an efficient enough bypass of his own trachea to enable him to hide the corpse before reaching the infirmary.

Tabitha continued to press her staff to his neck; awaiting a response and thoroughly unaware of the thought processes of her hostage. After a long pause in which Saito determined that the inspection party was moving away from them he finally spoke.

"I am sworn to the service of Louise de la Vallière specifically, and the Duchy of Vallière in general. Within this world they are the only ones I deem fit to call my masters." The answer didn't seem to mollify her. If anything she grew more suspicious, pressing her staff just a bit harder. His arm tensed in its sleeve, ready to strike.

Then she drew back, and he allowed himself to relax. Her eyes remained cold, her expression guarded. It was almost funny. He'd spent so much time and effort seeking out threats to his owner only to find that the greatest possible one had entirely escaped his notice.

"Telling truth. Surprising." Indeed, she did seem surprised. He was as well; for although he was, indeed, being honest with her he had not expected to recognize that or accept it. "Thought spy, or assassin. Suspected Reconquista." He nodded slowly. Yes, that might fit. Now he was curious, however.

"What gave me away? I had thought my conduct impeccable." A faint ghost of a smile visited itself upon her face. It was rather smug, at that, which made him think he'd made a very basic and categorical error with his characterisation.

"Tristanian. Too fluent." Saito's eyes widened slightly and he clenched his teeth. He'd thought it was fine, surely? They had no idea what his original language ought to sound… like… ah. As comprehension reached him the girl nodded. "Dwarf spoke other languages. Called one 'Kagati'. You are such. Thus, not native speaker. Too fluent." Once more he allowed himself to bow his head; this time in deference to her superior espionage skills.

"Quite, you are correct. Then I shall introduce myself properly; I am Saito of Vallière, formerly of Hiraga; Kagati Woodsman. And I am also a nameless murderer, trained from birth to serve my Lord or Lady as such." Oddly enough that made her actually smile, and she allowed a little bob to him in return.

"Tabitha. Also Charlotte de Gallia. Foreign agent, sometimes assassin." The two killers, one professional and the other more semi-professional, regarded each other with the curious fondness of two people who knew that, at some point in the future, they may be required to kill each other. Within that recognition was a certain camaraderie that shone through.

"The price for your silence?" Her smile grew a little wider. Yes, he knew how the game was played almost as well as she did. Even if he was older he figured her experience was a bit better. Already he was considering that she likely had a countermeasure for his earlier plan even if she didn't know precisely what it was. Truly an admirable girl.

"Favour. Eventually. May need someone dead." No more needed to be said. His agreement came in silence; a tacit understanding that he might someday help her in exchange for her silence so long as his mistress was not placed in peril. Nothing more needed to pass between them. She left as quietly as she'd arrived, some magic masking the sound of her movements, and he calmly returned to spying on the inspection team as if nothing had happened at all.


	10. Bronze and Misdirection

Matilda de Saxe-Gotha was, in a word, concerned. She was troubled, even. Years of hard work might all be rendered pointless by a single and rather sudden event. From her vantage point in the tower of Headmaster Osmond she could glance over at the ruined plain where, just the day before, Guiche de Gramont's dwarven familiar had done battle with a Square-class Earth Mage.

General Gramont had only won the bout, it seemed, due to his possession of Lightning magic. A frightfully difficult spell to cast at the best of times and one considered nigh impossible for those with an Earth affinity. She'd certainly never tried it. Which meant that her carefully crafted plan might all be for naught.

She'd spent weeks, _months_ even, working on the bald idiot teacher. Leveraging every ounce of misplaced affection he'd developed into information. As Osmond's secretary she'd had access to patrol schedules, cleaning schedules, and more besides. The plan had been, frankly, perfect. All she had to do was wait until the day of the Founder's Birthday. Then, during the celebration, she could take advantage of the situation to breach the vault and steal the prize.

That would fail. It would undoubtedly fail. There was no chance for success any more. That familiar wouldn't go to the party. If he was wandering the grounds and saw her siege golem then he'd simply destroy it. She couldn't stand up to that strength directly.

So she had to find a more cunning solution.

* * *

In many ways, she wished to thank the dwarf for his arrival. The desperation he'd infused into her had lead to her coming up with a plan that could get her to lay hands on the prize far sooner than she'd been intending to. Which was, with the increased pressure being laid on her, a very good thing.

While it was very true that the vault was impenetrable from the outside, save through the application of immense physical force, that wouldn't hold true if those who held the key simply opened it for you. In the end, the best way to get into a building was simply to knock. So she did just that; knocking on the door to the vault in the form of the threatening letter sent to the crown.

Of course, the one sent to investigate was a frustrating sort of man. Dealing with Osmond and that little bastard of a familiar that he had was a big enough problem. The Count de Mott was more subtle about it, lacking the excuse of senility, but he was certainly giving her excited looks from time to time that made her skin crawl.

Beyond that, she felt like they were being observed during the tour. It was a familiar sensation for her; given her career she'd gotten quite skilled at acting normal while under severe scrutiny. Thus, she was able to determine that someone was observing her intensely; or, if not her, at least their group. However, she couldn't tell who. It was quite frustrating.

"...-ueville?" She started suddenly at catching the end of her assumed name and straightened up immediately; her clipboard was clutched tightly to her chest. What had the old bastard asked for? Ah, ah, ah… aha! She grabbed a piece of paper and offered it immediately. Osmond nodded to her, and turned back to the Count.

"Here you are, Count; the full details of the vault's contents. You may feel free to check this accounting against the items within at your leisure; the vault itself is reasonably well organized, so it should be easy to confirm nothing is missing." The Count nodded to himself as they walked, examining the papers on his way.

"Which item is he after, would you say?" This time it was a question for the Headmaster. The old man looked thoughtful, considering the situation in full as the Count continued. "The majority of items contained are either dangerous or of academic interest only… any truly valuable items are kept in the Royal Vaults instead." That was certainly true; and she would have much preferred to steal from those. But she had her orders… and no choice but to follow them.

"Well… there is, of course, _that_ item." Osmond indicated something on the current page, to which the Count inclined his head. "However, if so then I doubt they know much about it. For all the power it may possess, there's no known way to use it. Every secret of that item passed on with its owner." Yes… that was certainly true, as well. Out of all the items in the vault that was the one that ought to be desired by Fouquet the least.

So why, then, was that the one she had to steal above all else? Matilda didn't know the answer to that. She didn't care to speculate, either. Her job was to acquire it and deliver it. Something that would be easily possible. Her wand was strapped to her forearm and, as she adjusted her clipboard, she carefully laid her fingers upon it. They were nearly at the door.

"Well said, Headmaster. Even so, we mustn't let any of these items fall into the wrong hands. Open the door, if you would be so kind." This was it. Her greatest barrier, about to be opened. None knew the method for opening this door save the Headmaster. She often wondered what would happen if he died. Still, her careful searching had uncovered nothing that gave her any clues to the functon of the entrance.

Old Osmond laid his stave against the doorway. She'd tried many times to examine the mechanism and open it, to no avail. The already-enchanted stones had refused to move for her. They moved for him, however. Rock slid over rock inside the vast, nigh-indestructible doorway and, shortly, it opened.

"Shall w-" Matilda struck the and there. She released the command spell from her wand into the stones around them. A full week of painstaking preparations bore fruit immediately in the form of bricks raining from the ceiling. Osmond lifted his stave to with startling speed to protect them all from the falling stones… and then was yanked through the floor. The animated hallway consumed him up to his neck, rapidly smacking the staff from his hands. All of them in the inspection party were given the same treatment; even the one they knew as the Secretary Longueville. Unlike them, however, she was in possession of her wand and had space to move her arms in the hollow she'd been tucked into. As she outwardly opened her mouth to cry for help, only to be gagged by stone like all the rest, underneath she began to direct her golems.

The wall behind them transformed itself into dozens of the tiny creatures. Dot-magic scale creatures. Simple, pathetic, and capable of only very basic commands. In this case their task was simple; enter the vault, seize the first thing you find, and then flee. As the teachers could only watch in horror the constructs charged in and grasped items by the dozen. They stuffed them into themselves, and then fled.

Under her gag, Matilda de Saxe-Gotha grinned as her plan came to fruition.

* * *

Outside the walls of the main Academy building, Kenneth was painstakingly putting together the links of Guiche's chain shirt. A week of work and he was nearly done. The other little surprise he'd been putting together for his student and employer was nearly finished as well. He'd been quite surprised by the original workmanship but, in the end, he felt like he'd created a superior piece.

Quite suddenly his axe was in hand. He turned and leapt; striking down and cleaving the target in half with a single stroke. His enemy, as it turned out, was a simple stone golem. It seemed he'd also destroyed some sort of book that was inside it? He frowned, looking around.

Through the ground he'd simply felt something strange approaching at high speed. He'd determined it was animated as opposed to alive, and so he'd struck it down. Now that he looked, though, there were more of them. Dozens. They were pouring out of the central building and rushing the walls; partially fusing with the outsides as they climbed up. Simply escaping, then?

… ah. Kenneth reversed his axe and rushed the nearest one, tearing it down in an instant. From there he continued to assault them as fast as he could. Each charge and strike brought down one of the fleeing constructs but, in the end, his anti-army capability was low. Many, many more escaped for each one he brought down.

"Well, this ain't good. Ah'd best go check on th' vault they were all on about." He moved at a rolling stroll, thoroughly unconcerned about the situation. In the end he'd done what he could to prevent escape but there had been too many for him. Since there seemed to be no danger to Guiche it wasn't a big deal. Although, maybe the Academy or the Crown might be willing to pay to recover the artifacts?

Ah, but that would require him to retrieve them intact. Perhaps he'd leave that job to someone else. Once he'd reached that resolution he'd picked up the pace a bit; it wouldn't do if the criminal was still there and got away because he was slow.

There was no criminal at the other end, however. Just the Count that smelled of sinister, the ancient Headmaster who reeked of defeat and the wistful lady with the pleasant earthy scent about her. He freed the latter first, and then the one in the middle. Finally, with great regret, he broke open the floor and pulled the first one out.

"Ah… many thanks, Ser Manson." Kenneth inclined his head but didn't deign to comment. His nostrils flared slightly. Suspicious. Was it this man? He didn't seem guilty. No way to be sure. Leave it to the others, then.

"'Twere naught, Count. Ah laid inta a few lil' blighters on their way oughta th' school, bu'..." He trailed off, glancing at the retreating back of Old Osmond as he ran into the vault. What he'd suspected was confirmed when the man let out a howl of anguish; something in particular had been taken.

"This is dreadful! Simply dreadful! I am afraid, Count Mott, that we have been taken for fools; the threats were a trap to get us to open the door." Ah. The good Count went a little green at the thought. His snake-like nature quickly reasserted itself as Kenneth wandered off again, and he could hear sinister reasoning flowing out from behind him.

"I hope you don't mean to imply this is in any way my fault, Headmaster. Blame lays upon you no matter how one looks at it; the thief infiltrated _your_ Academy successfully enough to lay a trap of this magnitude! In the hallway outside of the vault itself, no less. The Queen shall hear of your negligence, and we shall launch a thorough investigation." Kenneth shook his head as he left, braided beads clacking rhythmically against each other.

Humans. The one at fault here is the thief. Just catch them and everything is fine. Why waste time casting aspersions when the one to blame is getting away? He trudged off in search of Guiche. Best to get the young man's opinion on the matter, and then decide if he should intervene. The Headmaster had been very upset… so was the item taken very valuable? Mysterious.

* * *

By the end of the day, everyone at school had heard of the commotion. Some students had been caught up in the swarm of golems fleeing the vault. A few had been stopped, and a number of items recovered through chance alone. Even so; there were rumors that Old Osmond might be sacked as a result of this, or worse, and everyone knew that the theft was the work of the thief Fouquet.

For his part, Guiche was despairing. If he'd only been out in the corridors, with his mother's sword in hand, he could have certainly taken out at least two or three! Maybe even more with the new spell he was developing… even if it wasn't finished, surely there would be some effect? It was so frustrating! A perfect chance to play the hero, wasted.

Although, he had managed to improve his reputation somewhat through his public declaration that he would protect his dear, sweet Montmorency from any sinister thieves. She'd just swooned when he'd flexed his arms for her and shown off the results of his training! Such that there were, at least.

"I have acquired the list of items confirmed to have been stolen, my Lady." Guiche tried not to scowl at the common servant. Certainly he felt a level of camaraderie with his instructor, but that had been tempered by the anger that had been sown through dozens of vicious spars. Even so… he was a good servant. After all, he'd brought them all tea and cakes to go along with the information. Although, speaking of 'all' of them… Guiche sidled up beside Louise on the bench.

"Zero?" She glanced up at him, a frown of concentration on his face that said 'This had best be important, fop' as clearly as if she'd shouted at him. He shook off the similarities to her terrifying mother for the moment, and continued. "I understand it was your idea to investigate this event but…" He pointed suddenly at the unwanted invader at their meeting table. "Explain to me again why Zerbst and her friend are sitting with us!" Louise sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"In her own words, it seems that since I have no man for her to steal Kirche the Over-amorous has decided to steal me." The explanation had the tone of one who had been forced to repeat it many times. Which she had. Guiche himself had asked no less than three times in the past hour, yet still couldn't wrap his head around it.

Kirche waved off the explanation with a characteristic smirk and pounced on her quiet, blue-haired friend instead. Said friend ignored the incident entirely in favour of focusing even more intently on her book.

"Nonsense, Louise! It's just that my darling Tabitha has been so intently focused on your luscious servant that I thought I ought to help them get to know each other." The tiny girl pushed her nose ever closer to the book, turning slightly red. "Carrying home a Vallière is less of a goal, and more of a family tradition. Since you refuse to find a nice boyfriend, and appear to have no interest in that manly familiar of yours, I've chosen to lay claim to you for now!"

Louise let out a groan of frustration, and Kirche attained an air of infinite smugness. Even then… Guiche could see something there that, some weeks ago, he wouldn't have. A faint air of contentment from Kirche, and a mild happiness in Louise. He wondered what the cause of that might be.

"Alrigh', kiddies, settle down. Uncle Kenneth's here t'keep th' peace." Said dwarf laid himself down happily in a large armchair that he'd moments before been carrying over his head. Guiche pressed one palm to his face with grace and aplomb in recognition of his oh-so-graceless familiar's lack of tact. He had carried the chair here from his apartments, obviously.

"Th' red one's here 'cause she kin speak Dwarvish, and ah like t'tell jokes th' way they were intended. An' th' blue one is here 'cause they're attached at th' hip. Tha's all y'need to care about." Guiche shook his head. He rather doubted that all of his familiar's meddling was for such inane reasons.

"Ah… it seems they took the Staff of Destruction. That's not good!" Louise interrupted whatever further rambling was going to come out of Kenneth's mouth by piquing his interest with her outburst. He shifted a bit closer, leaning forward to eye the papers she'd been shuffling.

"Oh, aye? Wha's th' deal with that, then?" The Vallière rolled her eyes, and immediately launched into lecture mode. Even the blue-haired girl, ah, Tabitha? Even she looked up. Guiche had to admit once more that he'd never known just how much theory Louise had absorbed. Since they'd started hanging around each other a bit more, due to their strange familiars and training and such, he felt like his grades might have improved somewhat.

"The Staff of Destruction is a mysterious artifact recovered by our own Headmaster some many decades ago. During his travels as a young man-" Guiche tilted his head, but all of his attempts to imagine a younger Old Osmond just created the image of a young man with the exact same facial hair. Judging by Kirche's snickering she was suffering from the same problem. Louise frowned, and soldiered on. " _During his travels as a young man…_ "

She got up and turned around, applying her knowledge of the library's contents to acquiring the book she needed. A basic bestiary, with pictures; a rare and expensive book, due to the cost of the woodcuttings. The page she laid it down on was no joke, either; a monstrous, many-headed serpent leered out at them. "He encountered this. A Hydra."

Now even Kenneth looked interested. The heads bore a great similarity to the constructs that Guiche's father had made during their fight. Now the young man wondered if his father had ever sought such a creature. "Hydras heal rapidly from almost all wounds, and are incredibly poisonous. In addition, the larger ones release a horrifically toxic miasma that can blight the land for years. As an Earth Mage, and only a Line at the time, the Headmaster lacked the capacity to kill it."

Kenneth nodded, and Guiche understood well. They'd spoken of this, briefly. What to do if you came across an enemy that couldn't be overcome by force alone. As he was now, Guiche would have been even more helpless than the Headmaster had been against a creature such as this. "Apparently, a stranger saved his life with a mysterious magical power like none the world had ever seen… none of the accounts go into any details, though. He died shortly after from wounds he'd already had, and was given a hero's funeral and a mausoleum on the Osmond family's lands." At that moment, Kenneth interjected.

"Aye, lass, tha's a fine tale. But ah detect an issue. For ye, th' wands and staves're just tools. Why the fuss with this one?" Louise grinned, excited to share her knowledge. Perhaps she'd do better as a student than a teacher, Guiche mused.

"Because it had magic of its own. Any mage who touched it could feel the power sealed inside of it, but none could make it work. Out of respect for the man who had saved his life the Headmaster kept it safe and, when he joined the Academy, petitioned for it to be stored in the Vault here." With a smug expression, Louise concluded her lecture. "This item was undoubtedly their target; in which case, the entire heist was pointless. Even if they have the staff, the greatest mages of Tristain couldn't do anything with it. In the hands of a common thief it will serve them no better than a simple walking stick."

* * *

In the woods outside of the Academy a golem carrying a wooden box trudged onward. The energies animated it had nearly died out but this, too, had been accounted for. As it made the last few steps it paused suddenly and then keeled over in place. Mere moments later a shape in a dark cloak dropped down beside it.

"Hm… perhaps she is not so worthless as I thought? The construct almost made it all the way to the rendezvous point. Well, even so; it still didn't make it." The figure pushed their hood back to reveal a pale face and even paler blue eyes that shone in the moonlight. Multicoloured tattoos of all sorts covered their face and danced down across their skin to vanish beneath their coverings. One, of a deep reddish colour, glowed suddenly and fire erupted from their fingertips to blast the wooden box apart.

Within was a staff. Pitch black, yet not made of any wood that was recognizable in this world. The tree from which it had been hewn had been one of a kind in the Old World, or so they had said. A King of Trees, and a powerful entity in its own right, that had been dethroned by the maker of this tool.

She picked it up delicately, almost reverently, and tingled with delight as one of her runes burst into light. The only one not inscribed by her own hand. For a few moments the strange magic of the land that tried to seep into the staff was confused but it shortly melded with her own ability and then it understood.

"Their so called Staff of Destruction… Azak Ruya's lost stave, The Ash in Mourning… you have come to my hand at last." Symbols inscribed along the otherwise perfectly cylindrical staff began to glow with a sickly green light. She raised it up and a wide grin came to her face. Then, quite suddenly, she flung it away.

A surge of disturbing green flames licked across the surface of the discarded staff. They ate at the ground and the plants, blighting both equally in their attempt to scour the one who had dared to try and wield the tool. The woman chuckled to herself and a deep brown rune along her left arm began to glow. Stone formed from dirt and sealed the staff away once more.

"Ah, you're a feisty one. But I shall master you nonetheless… and then…" A twisted, fanatical expression of adoration adorned her tattooed face. "My beloved master… I can give him the army he desires… and at last claim for myself that title…" She giggled maniacally for a time, and then picked up the stone containing the staff. Intricate white runes along her legs shone as she rose up through the air and vanished into the clouds above; her last words trailing into the night behind her.

"The Queen... of Banefire..."


	11. Bronze and Appropriation

For the first time in a very, very long time Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt-Zerbst, or Kirche von Zerbst for short, was feeling a rather peculiar emotion. She wouldn't say that she was 'happy', because that would imply that she wasn't normally. It was hard to describe. Yet, as she leaned on her hand and watched Louise pore over a book there was a flush of warmth about her.

It had all started with that dwarf, hadn't it? He was a rather entertaining fellow, and his jokes were spectacular even if they didn't translate into Tristainian too well. There was a lot of punning and doublespeak involved, sometimes with truly spectacular complexity. Yet, for his ribald and risque speech, he was certainly…

Well, thanks to him she'd cried for the first time in a long time. Which was actually a good thing, as far as she'd concerned. When he'd needed to he discarded that air of foolishness and acquired a certain paternal grace about him. They'd had a good, earnest discussion about… quite a lot of things. Her treatment of Louise for one.

It was funny how things changed. The way he'd spoken of his homeland, and his wife, and _love_ had lead her to thinking quite hard about all sorts of things. So perhaps it was just a bit of girlish fancy, some foolish and childish diversion that meant nothing, and would amount to nothing but a strong friendship. Still, if she didn't try…

Louise noticed her staring and turned a little red, focusing on her book. Ah, she was just so cute. Kirche just wanted to eat her right up… which, according to some of Kenneth's jokes, was actually a fairly reasonable approach! She couldn't wait to test that. Ah, and as if reading her mind Louise sat up and cleared her throat.

"Well it seems that, apart from the Staff of Destruction, nothing stolen was particularly dangerous. So I think, _Guiche_ , that this is best left to the proper authorities, _Guiche_ , who can undoubtedly handle this without a group of school children blundering in. _Guiche_." The puffy-haired blond flushed, and then took on a look of righteous indignation.

"I had not intended to go off on a wild goose chase, thank you. Ser Kenneth impressed upon me the importance of choosing my battles. With no leads, there's no reason to try act on it. Is that not so?" He looked over to what was ostensibly his servant but undoubtedly his master with an expression that put her in mind of a puppy that had just shown off a new trick. It was cute, in a slightly pathetic sort of way.

She'd often considered spotting him a quick roll but, unlike her varied paramours, she doubted he'd be able to resist the urge to brag about it. _They_ all knew better than that. Guiche… was much less likely to do so. At least back then. He might be able to keep his mouth shut now but he'd also quit his two-timing ways.

If a boy was like that already she had no problem using them; but she would never incite a man to be unfaithful. Kirche had standards, after all. In spite of what some foolish children who couldn't get dates as easily as her might like to whisper behind her back.

For now, she got up and moved around behind Louise; wrapping her arms around the smaller girl's neck and leaning over her head to look at her notes. There was a moment of awkward silence and then a long-suffering sigh.

"Zerbst." Louise was quivering slightly.

"Vallière?" A grin spread across Kirche's face.

" **Zerbst**. Please remove your _udders_ from my personage." Instead of acquiescing, Kirche leaned even closer into her target with a massive smirk plastered across her face. Guiche was staring at them now, with the expression of a man in excruciating agony.

"I don't feel like it, Vallière. This position is so comfortable! Although, I know a few others that are even mo-" She broke off as the smaller girl began flailing violently, lashing out with her tiny, impotent fists to a chorus of chuckles from the Germanian.

"Oh, no need to get so angry, Louise. I'm just teasing." Kirche patted the pink-haired noble on the head, ruffling her hair in the process, and shifted into the seat beside her instead. Louise was bright red and fuming silently in her seat as she closed the book.

"I think we're done for now. We don't want to be late for dinner." Louise stood abruptly and turned to leave, bright red. Across the table, Kenneth was visibly restraining his mirth. He supplied her with a wink, and an upraised thumb that apparently a sign of support. Teasing the other girl was really quite fun, but… well, maybe she could get a little serious about it.

Germanians were rather permissive, after all. Her family had an heir now, so she didn't need to worry about another unsuitable engagement. That left her to pursue her own happiness. In the long term she had no idea what that might be… but, for now, supporting her friend seemed like the thing to do.

* * *

It was at dinner that Guiche noticed something was off. The entire mood was somber due to the attack, and neither Osmond nor the Count de Mott were present at dinner. Throughout the entire meal Saito had seemed ill at ease. Well, moreso than usual. After two weeks of sparring he'd managed to pick up on the servant's moods somewhat.

Kenneth had gone to offer his services in making sure no more golems were in the school, at Guiche's suggestion, so he was unattended for the moment. With that in mind, he decided to ignore his familiar's earlier suggestions and left to find the Count.

He wasn't in his rooms, nor near the vault; eventually Guiche found him in the Courtyard. His various servants were carefully packing his things into the ornate carriage that had brought him there in the first place. Although Mott was wearing a sour expression he brightened up considerably when he noticed Guiche's approach.

"Ah, young master Gramont. You look well. Good, good; it seems that the Headmaster was able to prevent harm coming to the students at the very least." It was an odd thing to say, or at least Guiche thought so. Fouquet had never hurt any of his victims in the past so of course nobody had been hurt. He didn't comment outwardly, however.

"Indeed, we were quite fortunate. Your visit has concluded, then?" The Count nodded, looking over to his carriages. In the background Guiche could see his various staff getting into a far less ornate conveyance. There was a moment where he thought he saw a familiar face amongst them, but quickly had to refocus on the Count.

"Yes, well, I was to inspect the security of the vault and suffice to say it is _not_ secure; though in little danger of being looted again, I feel. Rather, I shall be making some sternly worded suggestions to Her Majesty regarding the safety measures taken in this academy." Guiche frowned, although only inwardly, and inclined his head.

"Surely the circumstances are not so terrible? Nobody was hurt, after all." Mott smiled and placed a hand on the young noble's shoulder, turning him around as he began to walk; Guiche found himself being led along as the Count spoke to him.

"While it _is_ true that nobody was hurt can we really say it was the result of any competence on the part of the Headmaster? Consider, Guiche, the method. An entire corridor was animated into simple golems and then acted to ambush us. We saw no sign of the perpetrator, which makes it likely that Earth Stones were used." That wasn't necessarily true, but Guiche nodded nonetheless. Mott carried on.

"From this, we can infer that an unknown individual with considerable skill, at least Triangle class, had access to that corridor for several days. None of the staff detected any evidence of tampering beforehand. Not one. If this phantom thief had instead wished to do harm to the student body…" He trailed off, releasing Guiche. They stood now near the front gate, looking back upon the school in its entirety.

"I cannot, in good conscience, allow the Headmaster to remain in his position. While none would deny his experience it seems that perhaps his eccentricities have been getting in the way of his work, as of late? Why, his secretary alone had a wealth of fascinating testimony for me…" Having been present in Osmond's office barely two weeks hence Guiche immediately knew what was being referred to and reddened slightly. It was true that the Headmaster was a little odd, but….

"No, I suppose you cannot. It seems a shame to cut your visit short, however. Surely you haven't finished your inspection? After all, if the thief had to resort to trickery to enter it speaks well to the security of the vault itself." Again Mott shook his head, patting Guiche on the shoulder.

"No, that vault is worthless now. We can't upgrade it to correct the security issue; best to move what _few_ valuables remain to the Palace Vaults. Their entry method renders them immune to such trickery. If the hallway around it had been properly secured them maybe the Headmaster's position wouldn't be quite so precarious." Ah. Yes, well… that was… it did sound rather reasonable, to Guiche, in spite of his niggling little doubts.

"I suppose so. It's just a shame that your trip turned out to be a waste." The Count shook his head, allowing himself a modest, noble smile. It would seem to Guiche that his assessment of the situation was being disagreed with.

"Ah, my boy, you must find a silver lining in every failure. The outcome here may be such that I might as well have never arrived, yes; however, I have come into possession of a truly _delightful_ new retainer." Oho? That was curious. When Guiche considered the servants in employ in the academy he'd only really consider one to be of a tier that would cause such interest for the Count.

"I felt that her talents were being wasted here, and offered her a far more appropriate wage to her station. As unfortunate as the situation here is the one benefit is that I was thus able to convince the Headmaster to release her from her contract with the school; conditional upon her agreement, of course." Oh! Well, that was certainly kind of him. The two beamed back at each other, each secure in their apparent understanding of the other.

"Considering the quality of wages at the Academy your offer must have been most generous; with such a master I'm certain any servant would be pleased." The Count bowed his head to the compliment, and responded in kind.

"You are too generous; and a thoroughly perceptive young man. I have somewhat of an eye for talent, and a penchant for collecting unique servants." He turned back to his carriages and strolled for the lead one. The young blond kept pace with him for the time being, feeling his choice well vindicated as he did. "You are certainly a perceptive individual, young Master Gramont; I pray that you will consider my hospitality if you are ever in the vicinity of my demesne."

"I shall gladly endeavour to do so, Count; your own conversational skill has been delightful to experience." They bowed to each other, then, and with a few more requisite pleasantries they parted ways. The carriage train rolled out of the school taking with it the man who might determine the fate of their education; Guiche could only hope he might be moderate in his response to this disaster. Perhaps any concern might be tempered by his pleas? Only time could tell.

Well pleased with himself, the young man headed back inside. Hopefully, any further unpleasantness could be forestalled by level thought; after all, with the skill demonstrated it seemed to him that the one in the position of Headmaster would have been irrelevant to the outcome.

His good mood lasted well into the evening and through the night. From there it was sustained even unto the morning, when he performed his basic exercises alone and unsupervised, and right up until mid lunchtime; whereupon he suddenly found himself being accosted by Louise during his attempt to enjoy a particularly delightful tea and cake combination while his familiar was still otherwise occupied.

"Guiche," She began, shattering his calm reverie and interrupting his beloved Montmorency mid-sentence, "Have you seen Saito? He didn't come back after morning classes." Beside Guiche, his blonde companion arched a brow and smirked in a fashion that he thought might look somewhat unladylike on anyone else.

"Has he finally run away, Zero? How unfortunate. I saw him skulking about the women's quarters earlier; perhaps he's finally tired of you and is seeking a new master." Almost as if by magic, Kirche materialized out of thin air to provide one of her mannish hugs to Montmorency as they began a conversation on what was and was not appropriate to say to 'her' Louise. The Vallière paid her no mind, frowning at Guiche.

"I'm afraid not; I've not seen him since yesterday. Perhaps he's preparing something for you elsewhere?" But the thought rang hollow once voiced. Saito was like a shadow to Louise, and for him to not be around when she hadn't specifically sent him away was incredibly unusual. However, even as they considered the mystery it ended; only to be replaced by another one.

Saito appeared, quite suddenly, coming from one of the doors to the main building and striding across the grass towards the table upon which Guiche had been having his now thoroughly diverted lunch. He gave no explanation for his tardiness, or his stormy expression, and instead came right up to Louise in order to speak softly into her ear.

"Hm? Oh. Well, I suppose that can't be helped, Saito; if she wants to change occupations that is her choice. I know you were fond of her, but this is really too much." A stricken expression came across the servant's face and, for some unfathomable reason, he shot a look at Guiche. "Oh, come now; what is this uncharacteristic wariness?" After a moment, the young familiar sighed deeply.

"I do not wish for Master Gramont to think I am speaking ill of one of his… _friends_." In spite of what he said, the venom in that last word was barely contained. Really, Guiche had to wonder what Saito could possibly have against any of his friends? Well, perhaps Malicorne could be a little brusque at times and being such an impeccable servant the young man did take insults to his master rather seriously…

"I'm sure your judgement is sound and your reasoning solid. Never fear, Kenneth would solidly berate me if I didn't let you speak your mind." Perhaps he was mollified by the concept of dwarven retribution as much as Guiche's own assurances, which was, frankly, a tiny bit insulting, but either way Saito allowed himself to continue.

"... very well. I have encountered another servant whose grandfather appears to have been from my homeland; through her I have a link to my home and through me she has a link to her heritage." Perhaps a few weeks, or even days, ago Guiche may have questioned the relevance of this anecdote.

Now, though, he was able to connect a few dots faster than he might have otherwise by simple dint of paying attention to what other people said. It was weird to think of how oblivious he'd been not that long ago; particularly as he couldn't exactly point to any one event that made him decide to listen to those around him. Really, it wasn't a decision so much as just a thing he'd started doing at some point. How peculiar.

"Ah, I see your concern. Well, for what it may be worth the Count did suggest to me that he had offered her a notably increased wage for his service. Besides which, she did have to request release from her service here." That didn't seem to calm Saito any. In fact, his teeth only clenched together tighter.

"I see. Thank you for the information." The servant turned to his master and dropped to one knee, bowing his head to her. "Lady Vallière, I wish to take my days of leave for the past month now. In addition, I regret to inform you that there is a small chance I will be unable to return to your service afterwards." That took everyone present aback; Louise most of all.

"What are you talking about? Why wouldn't you come back?" Her concern was clear, and well justified. Beside Guiche, Montmorency shifted uncomfortably. He turned to her, quirking a brow but she wouldn't meet her gaze. Saito resolutely refused to answer until, quite suddenly, his darling let out a frustrated huff.

"Come now, Zero, you can't be this dense. When a middle-aged, unmarried nobleman acquires the service of an attractive young maid what do you _think_ that means? Obviously your familiar has feelings for the girl, and is considering doing something rash to prevent that outcome." Saito didn't nod. But he didn't avert his gaze either. Louise gasped, and then glared at him.

"You… idiot! Guiche is one thing, but the Count is a Triangle mage at least. What do you think you could do against that? I refuse! You, you, you… gah!" By the end she was striking him about the shoulders, tears of concern running down her face. Saito allowed her to vent for a time, and then took hold of her wrists.

"I am sorry, my Lady. However, we are bound to care for our own. Siesta is the closest thing I have to family in this world, apart from yourself. Even if it means going against your commandments I cannot abandon her." Guiche closed his eyes. Coming from Saito, that was certainly a profound statement. It also illuminated a number of factors about this situation that were… concerning.

He stood, quite suddenly, and laid a hand on Louise's shoulder; looking down at Saito with a grave expression. The servant rose to meet his gaze and they regarded each other in silence. Then Guiche let out a heavy sigh.

"In this case, good Ser, I am afraid I have my own debts to pay. Come!" He gestured expansively, striking a pose that he thought looked properly heroic. "We shall go to retrieve your maiden!"


	12. Bronze and Villainy

Once he'd agreed to act on Saito's behalf Louise had been forced to go along with the idea. Guiche's first action was thus to meet with the Headmaster so that he and Vallière could request a leave of absence. If they were refused… well, they'd work something out.

Much to their surprise, however, they found that Old Osmond was currently in the middle of… well, it looked like packing. He acknowledged them as they entered but didn't pause his efforts. It was bizarre to see the old man dressed in something that wasn't his school robes. Instead he was in a well-worn traveller's outfit.

"Headmaster? Are you… leaving?" Finally, the teacher took a moment to focus on them. He leaned on his staff and regarded them as a small, white mouse circled around his feet. There was a certain resignation in his gaze even though he looked younger than they'd ever seen him. In deference to his overall oddness, however, his beard appeared to be tucked into his belt.

"The Crown has yet to ask for me to abdicate my position, if that's what you mean. Rather, I am taking pre-emptive measures. I intend to pursue the thief myself, and return the Staff of Destruction; having seen its power firsthand, I have no desire to leave it in unknown hands." That was startling. Certainly, the Headmaster was undoubtedly a powerful mage but…

"Ah. Well, we wish you luck then. However, before you go, we must ask a short leave of absence from school for… personal reasons." Osmond scratched at his beard with a thoughtful expression as he regarded the two teens.

"I see. Am I to assume, then, that your familiars shall accompany you on this venture of yours?" When Guiche nodded the old man grimaced somewhat, and let out a grand sigh. "Most unfortunate. Miss Vallière, I had hoped to request the services of your servant for my own journey; however, it seems I shall have to make do with Mótsognir."

"I am sorry, Headmaster. Under other circumstances I would have gladly granted your request, however…" Louise bowed her head. "This is a very personal matter for my servant, and I don't think it can wait." Osmond sighed again, and returned the gesture.

"Very well. You may have your leave; and I wish you luck." He stepped forward to give Guiche a companionable pat on the shoulder and allowed a grandfatherly smile to both of them. "Do listen to your familiar, young Gramont, and try not to get into too much trouble."

* * *

Guiche saw Louise off first; she'd said that she wasn't going to come with them but, rather, was going to go to the Capitol. Apparently she'd formulated a plan of some sort and, on the whole, didn't think she would be of much use in a direct confrontation. Saito would go with him to Mott's… mostly so that he didn't do anything foolish.

Now, however, came the most difficult part of all. He had to explain the situation to Kenneth. He'd located his absent familiar shortly after the quick planning session with the Vallière. The dwarf was in his forge, and as Guiche approached he appeared to be quenching something. There was an ominous, sputtering hiss as he stood over the hollow and looked in.

"Ah, Guiche. Good timin', lad. Ah've got something for ya." He pushed himself up with a little mound of dirt and went right for his master with gift in hand. Grinning widely, Kenneth thrust the finished chain shirt out in front of him.

It was rather pretty, actually. Guiche was momentarily sidetracked and took the armour from his familiar. Quite light, as well. He shrugged off his cloak and pulled it on, just to see how it rested. The answer was, apparently, 'perfectly'. He had to struggle a bit to get his arms through but once it was in place it rested slightly loosely and didn't interfere with his movements.

"Gotta get ya a prop'ly padded jacket as well, else ye'll get some nasty chafing. Still, suits you. Ah kin guarantee that there's but one blade in this world as can cut that, although if y'take a solid body blow or a heavy hit from a spike th' welds on th' individual links _can_ give way." The particular tone he used made it obvious that was probably an unlikely outcome.

"Thank you, Kenneth. This is… thank you." They stood there in silence for a couple of moments until Saito cleared his throat rather meaningfully. Guiche turned red, recalling the reason they were there. "Ah, right. I'm afraid, Ser Kenneth, that the young maid Siesta has been appropriated by the Count de Mott; possibly through some form of coercion. I feel I owe it to her to assist Saito in retrieving her before anything untoward happens."

Kenneth was very still for a time. Then he stepped back down into his forge and retrieved his axe. He gave it a few hefts, examined the edge and spike, then nodded to himself. Next he retrieved his armour, pulling it on and grabbing his cloak as he climbed back out of the hole. Finally, he grasped the straps to the massive, cloth-wrapped stone slab that he took almost everywhere with him and secured it to his back.

"Very well, then. Let's go explain t'him th' error of his ways. All nice an' polite like." The very worst part was that he seemed entirely calm. Guiche didn't realize how much he would've preferred furious, mouth-frothing ranting until right at that moment.

The skies grew dark as they set out. Saito was guiding the horse while Guiche clung on for dear life and tried not to cry. Kenneth had packed up a few more things, including his crossbow, and was keeping pace with the horse by, frankly speaking, cheating. Since he was unwilling to leave his slab behind this time he had instead chosen a bizarre form of travel that seemed to involve using his control over the earth to constantly fling himself forward.

With Saito's horsemanship and Kenneth's… Kennethness they were making good time. It was well, then, that they came into sight of Mott's manor just as the gathering clouds opened up and began to pour down upon them. They pulled up their horse in front of the gates and Guiche did his best to demand that they be taken to the Count in an imperious fashion. The rain made it a little difficult to maintain the facade, however.

They were, unsurprisingly, admitted with relative haste. Warm, fluffy towels were provided to dry them in the entrance hall and they were quickly escorted thereafter into a warm, comfortable sitting room with a roaring fire. In the presence of such opulence it was almost easy to forget why they had come. Well, for Guiche at least.

"Now, Saito…" He looked over to the attentive servant where he stood in the corner. Without Louise around, actually, he felt a little less 'attentive' and a little more… ominous. In retrospect, he probably should have asked the young man to hand over his various knives. Even then, he of all people knew just how many weapons that Saito could conceal upon his person.

"I understand this is a complex situation, Master Gramont, and I assure you that the ride has well calmed me." The young man cast a dark glance over at Kenneth. "In any case, I have no doubt that Ser Flamecutter could easily restrain me if I chose to act rashly." Perhaps… then again, he was terrifyingly fast.

"Pray, have some faith in me. I shall do my utmost; for your sake, and for hers. Though I know I cannot blame myself for what has transpired directly I still cannot help but feel a responsibility _to_ this girl." Saito remained silent, returning to his usual taciturn self, but Guiche could feel warm approval radiating from his familiar's seat. Now he could only hope his skill matched up to his resolve.

The door opposite to the one through which they had entered opened and an immaculately dressed maid entered. A fine silver platter with delicate china tea set was placed on the table before Guiche and Kenneth and she poured three cups before leaving the room. Shortly thereafter the one they had journeyed so vigorously to see arrived.

Count Mott was dressed in a luxurious velvet nightgown that bespoke a certain level of both comfort and elegance. In spite of what ought to be a state of undress, or embarrassment, he was both well at ease and secure in his personage and home. As he entered he smiled magnanimously at Guiche and bowed his head to Kenneth.

"Ah, young Master Gramont! So soon a visit? Well, I suppose I did say you could enjoy my hospitality at your leisure, more or less. Yet, I detect a certain note of… urgency to this visit. Are you quite alright?" When he had previously spoken with the Count his easy air of self-assurance had rather endeared him to Guiche. Yet, now, it felt somehow… sinister.

"Yes, well, I am afraid that needs must. You intimated to me before you left that you had acquired a new servant at the Academy, yes?" Mott inclined his head, faint smile never leaving his face. "I would like to obtain her contract from you." There was a light chuckle from the other noble as he leaned on one hand, adding milk and sugar to his tea with the other..

"I see. Well, that is a conundrum. You realize, of course, I cannot simply _sell_ her contract to you? There are laws, Master Gramont." As he spoke he calmly stirred his tea. It was as if the situation was utterly normal for him. "Of course, even if I were inclined to release her from her employment contract… well, frankly, I see no reason to."

Before Guiche could respond, Mott continued in the same calm, confident air that hung around him like a shroud. "You see, I am _invested_ in her. I could've gained a far greater concession from Osmond if I hadn't spent that… ah… call it, 'good will' on getting him to allow her to leave her position at the Academy."

Every hope that Guiche had for a peaceful resolution was draining out of him. Each soft-spoken word, dripping with absolute conviction, drove a knife into his gentle heart. He felt, in that moment, like he may as well have been poisoned for how close to being violently ill he was.

"I had… you cannot seriously be intending to...?" Much to his surprise, Mott took on an expression of concern that felt actually genuine. Hope became resurgent as the spectre of the once-unsullied Nobleman that the Count had seemed to him before returned for but a moment.

"Why, young Gramont, you look a fright. What could be so troubling to you?" He considered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Ah, I see, I see. I have stolen your prize from you, have I not? Well, I must apologize; after I heard about that dreadful business with that insipid first year girl I'd assumed you'd been put off. Well, even so, I am afraid I cannot cede such a fine specimen to you so easily."

Perhaps it was the look of utter shock on Guiche's face that finally betrayed him. Or, perhaps, the entire thing had been building to this. Mott remained calm as his guest covered his mouth in shock, staring blankly at the older man. Beside him, Kenneth's gauntlet creaked as he clutched at the haft of his axe.

"Jus' say th' word, Guiche. By yer leave ah'll divide this bastard into quarters an' scatter th' ashes of him an' his possessions inta th' storm." The dwarf was quivering in place, practically vibrating with fury. He was fully prepared to commit murder on the spot as soon as Guiche was willing to unleash him. Yet… he was not willing.

"He won't say it, Ser Dwarf. Because he knows that, in the end, it would be for _nothing_ save the tiniest balm on your consciences." Mott smiled beatifically, secure in his moment of victory. "In fact, it would serve you even less than nothing! With no actual proof or wrongdoing your master would be ruined. No amount of heroism in the future would absolve him of the crimes of murder, and _treason_."

He lifted his cup and took a sip, sighing happily at the sweet taste. "His father would, first and foremost, be forced to disown him in order to avoid any of the repercussions falling on the House de Gramont. Without that protection he would be, in essence, a commoner; thus, his manifold crimes would be _magnified_. In short, to unleash you now would ruin everything he is and could be for the sake of a lone peasant girl."

Finally, the facade of a generous, confident Nobleman shattered to reveal the snake beneath, Mott's calm smile grew into a vicious grin. "And that, Ser Dwarf, is something he will not do. Because in the end he accepts, as well he should, that he is more valuable than her." In that moment, the Count came within inches of death. Quite literally, in fact, as Kenneth only barely managed to catch Saito's knife with his left hand a handsbreadth from piercing his chest.

"Pity that you stopped him. I could have used a few favours from her mother." When Mott lowered his hand Guiche was rather startled to see that his wand was in it. He hadn't even seen him pull it out. Had it been concealed in his sleeve? "That is Vallière's servant, is it not? Well, he did make an _attempt_..."

"Ah, but my familiar gallantly protected you, did he not?" His grin fading to a hint of a smile, Mott allowed a slight nod to acknowledge the point.

"Indeed, you are correct; that was well done, Gramont. Certainly, I do owe you some small favour. Shall I release your servant girl? I can call for her now, if you like." Whatever certainty Guiche may have derived from the moment was easily quashed. The prize he'd come for so gladly offered him...

"I think I must ask you to excuse Saito's actions, mustn't I? Else you wouldn't offer her up so readily." Mott's smirk returned quickly but he said nothing. Not that there was any need to. Guiche swallowed heavily. He felt rather out of his depth, here, and neither Saito nor Kenneth was calm enough to offer any real assistance. "You must understand what you're doing is wrong, Count; exploiting this girl for your… base desires is both immoral and illegal.. If I were to go to the authorities…"

That finally got a reaction beyond smug amusement and subtle condescension out of Mott. Unfortunately, it was out-and-out laughter. Guiche's proclamation was met with absolute mirth on the part of Mott.

"Oh… you poor, naive little boy." Mott continued to chuckle even as he stood and strode over to the fire, turning his back to the group. "You truly have no grasp of this situation. Allow me to elaborate for you… purely hypothetically, of course." He picked up a fire poker and jabbed at the burning logs a couple of times before turning to face them once more.

"Take, say, a young, exotic servant girl. She has an older Nobleman offer her a job at, say, twice her current pay. While it is, of course, a lucrative offer she has enough of an imagination to know what he may desire of her. So, quite reasonably, she begs off the offer by saying… hm… well, for example, that she cannot leave her current employment contract without permission. Quite common, no?" Guiche didn't trust himself to reply. He just glared silently.

Mott rolled his eyes, perhaps at the childishness of it in his own mind, and continued heedless of the sheer level of hate being directed at him from the room's only other inhabitants. "So, this Noble is stymied, yes? Well, no. All he need do then is suggest he can get her out of her employment contract. The wheels turn in her head, making… connections. Implications. He can have her contract voided so she will work for him… so, perhaps, will he do so if she doesn't agree to?"

The only snakes that Guiche had ever seen in his life were familiars and, as a result, were unusually docile. If he were ever to encounter one in the wild, however, he could only imagine that it would look and move exactly like Mott did. Slowly, deliberately, shifting softly across the room as he extolled the virtues of his plot while utterly secure in the knowledge that there was nothing Guiche could do. The definition of sinister.

"No threats have been made, you understand. No overt implications, either. Yet she has talked herself into agreeing already. That… is that. From that moment, her fate is sealed. Upon her arrival at his home she meets his other servants… every woman among them uniquely beautiful, in their own ways. Her assumptions are only reinforced further by this… and the fact that, many nights, a maid will not return to their shared quarters."

It was funny… Guiche couldn't recall having ever actually _hated_ anyone before. In the man's every word he saw his ignorant self reflected, arm outstretched to strike at a terrified girl. No wonder Kenneth had been so furious… was this what his lack of restraint might have led to?

"So you see, Guiche, there have been no laws broken here. None need be violated. After all… why would I threaten, bribe or coerce when the chains of her very own expectations will drive her _willingly_ into my bed without my having to lift another finger." Saito had gone very still again, Kenneth's outstretched arm quite possibly being the only thing that prevented him from launching himself across the room in a murderous frenzy.

"You can't possibly believe that you can get away with this, Mott; you just told me _everything_. Even if you're somehow not breaking any laws I can certainly destroy your reputation with those admissions." The fact that Mott only laughed in response didn't give Guiche much hope.

"Please. Your word against mine? The word of Guiche de Gramont, known philanderer against _Count_ Mott, the trusted Royal Messenger? Who do you think would believe you, boy? Honestly, I had thought you _understood_ the way the world worked." Mott sighed, and retrieved a roll of parchment from within his velvet robe.

"Trading in people is illegal, of course, so I can't put it in writing that I shall release her from my service. But, should you agree to my terms, I will seriously consider your request." He moved to a small writing desk at the side and began to scribble upon the scroll. After a minute of awkward silence, broken only by the scratching of a quill, Mott turned back to Guiche and offered him the contract to peruse.

"... you can't be serious. This is… this is outrageous! You might as well be asking me to enslave Kenneth to you." The agreement was, on the surface, a trade agreement of sorts between the houses of Mott and Gramont. It was based around Kenneth's crafting skills and, apart from requiring the Count to provide the raw materials the result was _heavily_ in his favour. "And you ask this of me, with no guarantee you shall uphold your word? How can I trust that you shall release her untouched?"

Mott pressed his hands together and rested his chin atop them, smiling beatifically at Guiche in a way that made him desperately want to strike the man down where he stood. Or to give the word and let Kenneth do as he would. The Count probably knew that, though. It may even be his intent.

"You have none; save this admission. The girl is just a… bonus prize, for me. My real goal, Guiche de Gramont, is and always was the service of your familiar. I had worried that I might have to spend some of my hard-earned political capital in order to have that blacksmith arrested! But, instead, you walked in here and handed me the key to his shackles of your own free will."

Mott smiled a true and genuinely pleased smile. "Thank you, Guiche. Thank you so _very_ much." He slid the pot of ink across the table, along with the quill, and looked expectantly at Guiche. The young man felt… defeated, mostly. Lost. He'd come in here without much of a plan, so what had he expected? What a fool he had been.

He hadn't even realized he was reaching for the quill until there was a knock at the door. Mott's expression turned foul for just a moment, and then he smoothed it again as the door opened a well-dressed male servant stepped in.

"Count, there is a Griffin Knight here. He says he needs to speak with you, urgently." Mott sighed and stood, glancing over at Guiche with an apologetic shrug.

"I do apologize, Gramont, I must attend to this. Do consider my most _generous_ offer while I clear up whatever matter this may be." However, he was prevented from leaving as the door opened further. A man, silver-haired yet surprisingly youthful in appearance, stepped through and removed his wide-brimmed, feathered hat as he did so.

"No need, Count; my business is relevant to young Gramont." For the first time since Guiche had met him it seemed that Mott was legitimately taken aback. He stood in place, staring speechlessly at the stranger who just turned and winked at Guiche. "Allow me to introduce myself, young sir; I am Viscount Wardes, Captain of the Griffon Knights. My dear fiancée all but demanded that I come intercede in the matter at hand." Finally, Mott managed to bluster himself back into sensibility.

"Well, Viscount, I am afraid there is no _matter_ here that requires your intercession! I cannot imagine the Captain of the Griffon Knights has any interest in a simple servant girl." The condescension returned in full force, along with the smugness. It did falter somewhat, however, when Wardes flourished a slightly soggy letter.

"I must disagree. You see, Count, my fiancée informed me that the servant you have acquired has a precommitment to the Vallière family. In my hand I have an agreement, signed and ratified by Louise de la Vallière, master of the young man there, and the Duchess Karin de la Vallière, that one the former Academy maid you hired just yesterday is engaged to be married to Saito of Vallière." Guiche started in his seat as a number of things clicked into place.

Firstly, the plan at work here. Then, rather more slowly, the connection between Viscount Wardes and Louise. He was rather embarrassed that the latter part took him so long. Mott snatched the letter, tore it open and began to read it. Then he smirked.

"I see no notary from any priest here. This engagement has no legal power; until she marries the boy the Vallières have no authority over her and thus I, as her current employer, say that I do not support any such marriage; as is my right under the contract she _willingly_ signed." The Viscount grimaced as Mott thrust the letter back at him with a sharp grin. "I'm afraid your clumsy attempt has been stymied, Wardes. Better luck next time." Yet the Captain was not to be dissuaded as he lay his hand upon the hilt of his sword.

"I see. Then I am afraid that, on behalf of the boy, I must challenge you to a duel." Mott snorted with derision, waving the idea aside as if it were a foul smell.

"I decline! And you are a Griffon Knight in any case, you cannot challenge me on behalf of another to whom you have _no_ connection. Perhaps the Vallière brat is your betrothed but, just like the girl, you are not yet part of the family. Please, see yourself out; I have no more time for your foolishness." Wardes bowed his head, frustration writ large across his features.

Guiche looked at the man. Truly looked at him. He was soaked to the bone. For the sake of a servant girl… but, no, that wasn't it. For the sake of his betrothed he had flown here from the Capitol, in a storm no less, to challenge this man with what had to be the best plan he could concoct on such short notice. To have it fail now…

"Count Mott; in the name of the House Gramont, I challenge you to a duel of honor." Once more, shock graced Mot's face. It was a far more preferable expression for him to wear.

"Come now, boy, why would I accept? You have no claim either. Unless you wish to tell me that you will take the peasant's hand in victory?" Guiche shook his head, teeth grinding together as he glared at the foul, inhuman apparition before him.

"You will accept my challenge, Mott, else I shall speak to your cowardice until my dying breath. Not only myself, but the Viscount here; and my father, as well, I assure you! My familiar fought him to a standstill and if he says to the General Gramont that you, sir, are a coward then he will gladly speak that truth to every Nobleman he ever meets with until his dying breath!"

He'd shot to his feet at some point and was practically shouting at Mott. Pure hatred buoyed him forward at that point, gave him words to say and the voice to cry them with. "And, for your information, that 'peasant' has a name! Her name, Count, is _Siesta_ and I swear I shall beat the remembrance of that name into you if it's the last thing that I do!"

Mott was very still, and very quiet. Then his wide, self-assured smile returned as his perception of control reasserted itself. This, to him, was not outside of his goals. The potential for serious slander was minimal but certainly present as a legitimate threat and he would also think, or so Guiche hoped, that this might well prove to be a golden opportunity.

"Very well, Guiche. In accordance with the Code Duello you have challenged me. You may select one of the time, or the location, for our duel." The blond man grit his teeth, sensing the trap but having no choice but to fall into it.

"Now. This very moment, Count. We shall resolve our duel immediately." Once more Mott nodded magnanimously, as if all this were within his projections.

"And thus, as is my right, I say that we shall duel in my courtyard. The rain ought to make a lovely backdrop, don't you think? The Viscount may be our referee in this. Of course, for the sake of fairness, I shall limit myself to mere Dot spells." And once more Guiche ground his molars together with frustration.

"No. You shall have use of your full arsenal, or else you may surrender now. I shall not leave you any room to claim my victory is invalid." The wide answering grin let him know that such a declaration was exactly what Mott had wanted; yet, even knowing that, he'd had no choice in the matter.

"There shall be no interference from familiars, then. Neither mine, nor yours." Although he didn't know what creature one such as Mott may have called in his Academy days Guiche was certain that such a ruling was not in his favour. Nevertheless...

"Very well. I wish to invoke the Chevalier code. Have you any objection?" This was the crux of Guiche's one and only chance for victory here. If this did not pass he had no hope at all.

"You wish to use a wandblade, then? And your fine armour, I've no doubt. I have no objection… assuming that you, I trust, have no objection to my carrying multiple wands. Or did you hope your victory might come from sundering my implement?" That had been one hope, yes, but one of many. Ill-prepared as he might be plans were rolling into Guiche's head like a lightning storm.

"No objection. We shall fight to surrender. Upon your loss you shall release Siesta from her contract." At that Mott quirked an eyebrow. Perhaps he had expected for Guiche to demand a duel to first blood. Such a thing would have only benefitted the older man, however.

"As you say; however, upon _your_ loss, you shall sign whatever contract I may put before you. Do you agree?" For a moment Guiche closed his eyes, centring himself in the memory of a tragedy avoided. Then he nodded. "The rules are set, then, and witnessed. I shall change, and meet you in the courtyard. Good luck, young Gramont. You will certainly need it." Mott left the room, absolutely secure in his victory. Behind him, Wardes shook his head.

"That was a damn fool thing, boy." The Viscount stepped forward, clapping Guiche on the back. "But brave, I won't fault you that. In this rain, though, he might as well be a Square mage; you can consider all his spells to be at least one rank higher in power." Guiche nodded. He knew that much. It was entirely possible he had no chance of victory here. Even so…

"Nevertheless, Viscount, I must at least make the attempt. I know that… that if I were in here position, I would want someone to do as much for me." Kenneth nodded, but said nothing. He didn't have to. Wardes seemed to accept that, and began to unbuckle his jacket.

"The weather's awful out there, and my keen powers of detection note that you are lacking in both a coat and an undervest for that chainmail of yours. Take mine; even if I can't help you fight, I can at least do that much for you." Tears of gratitude welled up in Guiche's eyes as the Knight stripped off his padded vest and, with Saito's help, got his chainmail off and then back on again.

They swapped out his school cloak for Wardes' heavy, surprisingly dry cape. "No hood, I'm afraid. But…" A weight settled on his head. Guiche looked up to see the older man smiling down at him from under the brim of the wide hat he'd removed upon entering. Only it wasn't on the Viscount's head. "You seem a good sort, Guiche de Gramont. I don't think I'd like little Louise to lose a friend like you. This ought to keep the rain out of your eyes, at least. Try not to die out there, okay?"

Guiche nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Kenneth, meanwhile, had removed a cloth-wrapped package from his own bag and was pulling the bindings off it.

"An' ah dinnae wish to add ye to me slab, boy. So ye'll be taking this as well, with my compliments. Ah was hoping to put a few finishing touches on it afore ye went and did anything quite so damn foolish as this, but… well, hopefully this'll be yer trump card." It was a gleaming shield, engraved with the coat of House Gramont upon its surface; the crest barely marred by the few strategically placed spikes.

"Ah'll enamel it for ye if ya survive. An' if ya don't, ah swear by th' Goddess that ah'll make the man wish he'd never been born." Then, much to his surprise, the small man hugged Guiche around the waist. It was a little awkward, and surprisingly teary. "Yer me first student, boy. So ye'd best not be going and dyin' on me." They disengaged. Saito said nothing, knuckles still white with restrained fury, but he managed to place a hand on the young noble's shoulder and give him a nod of support nonetheless.

"Right then." Guiche turned and felt that he managed to make his cape flourish in a somewhat dramatic fashion. "Let's go. I have a duel to win!"


	13. Bronze and Wave

"I don't have a lot of detail about Mott, I'm afraid, but I'll tell you what I can." As they walked down to the courtyard together Wardes was speaking quickly in a soft, low tone. Kenneth kept silent, allowing the other man to coach his disciple. "He's never been seen to use ice, but if he's Triangle it's a possibility you'll need to keep in mind." Guiche nodded, trying to recall a dozen lessons with his familiar and, even earlier than that, with his father.

"Try to destabilize his footing if possible. Get his wands away from him. You're younger, more fit; that's an advantage. Don't stop moving. What's your main spell?" That was a good question. They hadn't had time to work on his repertoire; indeed, Kenneth had insisted that they focus on sharpening his existing blades.

"Bronze golems." Wardes nodded with approval. They'd just reached the door to the courtyard, and it was raining just as heavily as when they arrived. More, even. The courtyard was slick underfoot. Mott was already waiting for them, unphased by the weather. Well, he would be; the rain parted above his head and the grass underfoot was dry.

"Distract him if you can. Try and break his line of sight. Get his wands out of his hands and you've won. Good luck, boy." There was a final moment of unity as the dwarf stepped up to whisper some last-second advice and then Guiche stepped away from the two of them with a tip of his head. Rain poured over him as he moved to stand opposite the Count, some twenty paces betwixt them. Mott regarded him with a smirk. To their rear, Wardes raised a similar shield to keep the rain off him and Kenneth.

"You know, Guiche, you and I are rather similar." Mott shattered the silence with a jovial smile and a casual greeting. As if this was nothing at all. "I was the second son of my family… since I wasn't going to inherit I went to sea with a merchantman. They were rather glad to have a mage aboard, you see. I reached Line there, and Triangle as well. It was my trial by fire." The genial grin returned. He held a hand out to Guiche, still smug and calm. "You can let this all go. I'd prefer to be your ally than your enemy."

Guiche didn't reply. He fixed the count with a stony gaze and retrieved his old rose wand from his vest. It was held loosely between his fingers, water dripping off the petals. Mott sighed and shook his head. "Very well. I had high hopes for you, my boy. Perhaps after a bit of proper discipline you'll see things differently. Viscount! On your signal."

Wardes stepped forward, expression grave, and raised his swordwand into the air. Guiche tightened his grip and then forced himself to take a deep breath. Mott remained calm and confident, the wand in his hand pointed up to deflect the rain. Then the blade dropped.

Guiche flicked his wand and nine petals detached from the flower. They twisted through the air, shining with light as they became his golems. This was the fruit of his training. Their armour had been redesigned with Kenneth's help to reduce weight and actually protect their new, properly articulated joints. With the reduced weight and increased mobility he'd been able to sustain three more.

They took ranks in front of him. Two locked their shields and stood in front of him, two more went to the left and two to the right, then three charged the front. At Kenneth's suggestion he'd armed them identically, and with blade and shield. Until he'd mastered his own arts enough to branch out the potential benefits of weapon variety were overwhelmed by the benefit of focus.

Mott had yet to lower his wand. He was probably still smirking as well. The sets of two arching left and right moved fast and low as the three in front spread out and advanced with weapons at the ready. They moved more slowly as their sisters circled around him; spreading out to cover him from seven angles. Still no movement. Guiche was uneasy, but even so he raised his wand to give the attack command.

The response was sudden. Mott flicked down his wand and the rain came with it. Water formed a ring around him that, with a flick of his hand, flung outwards and slammed into his constructs with a sound like a ringing bell. As they staggered back he moved calmly towards one. A surging wave followed behind it that slammed into the chest of the Valkyrie and, off-balance as it was, knocked it off its feet and backward.

He turned in place, guiding the wave around him to smash into the sides of the still-standing Valkyries. Once he was done the thick body of water curled around him like a vast serpent defending its master. Then he let it go. The liquid splashed down and rolled out along the grass as a soft wave.

Guiche stared at his assault force as they struggled to right themselves. His old design would have been much like turtles in this situation, so they were far faster than they would have been, but the rain had turned this lawn into a quagmire. He could feel the mud himself, sucking at his heavy boots.

His father, when he'd fought, had demonstrated unyielding power. The strength to crush and destroy. This was different. Earlier, he'd thought of the Count as a snake. That comparison had been… incomplete. The way he moved now, calm and even steps even as Guiche's golems attempted to rush him again...

Two charged, shields outstretched. The rain formed another trailing whip for Mott to use as he twisted inhumanly and slid between them. His spell caught the ankle of one and yanked at it; the two crashed together as one was knocked down.

It reminded Guiche of someone he couldn't quite put his finger on. The essence of sinister. He swallowed heavily as the realization of what he'd gotten himself into hit. There was no turning back now. He discarded his rose wand and drew his mother's sword, rapping it on the side of his shield as a signal to his two guards.

"Let's go."

They moved first; their mechanical strength allowing them relative ease of movement in the swamp of the battlefield. Guiche touched the tip of his sword to the ground and spoke a hushed incantation to force the ground to raise and solidify for him. As he charged behind his creations, holding his stance as low as he dared, he kept the blade tip pressed into the dirt. It easily cut through the mud and made a path for him as it did so.

Mott stood in the middle of a swarm of blades and metal. The seven Valkyries already assaulting him were thoroughly outmatched, however. This close up Guiche could see that there was a thin sheet of water covering the man. It seemed to be supporting his utterly impossible movements; allowing him to bend and sway and _flow_ between the attacks.

He seemed to anchor one foot to the ground and lean back an unbelieveable distance to dodge a swipe of a blade, only to come back in with a high-powered water blast following behind his wand that slammed the offending Valkyrie through the air and lightly dented its chestplate. Guiche's ribs ached just at the thought. He'd need to reinforce them.

Still, Mott wasn't facing him at this moment. Allowing a smirk of his own, Guiche opened the palm of his left hand and dropped the single metal petal within at his feet. His sword dipped down to touch it, the incantation for release rolling off his tongue. The tenth golem took form.

* * *

Fighting in the rain was soothing more than anything else, at least for Mott. It reminded him of a simpler time. Fighting amidst ocean spray and roiling waves for his very life. Not that he'd truly _enjoyed_ that life. Far from it. The relaxation came from the knowledge that he had transcended that meagre existence. Perhaps he had once felt some joy in the thrill of combat but, as time had gone on, he'd come to realize what he really loved was _winning_.

Which is why, upon his return to civilization to discover that he'd beaten his own brother to the inheritance merely by _surviving_ , he'd sought to do so at every opportunity. He'd tasted the fruits of success in every shape and form since those early days. In doing so Mott had discovered that the victory he liked best was the one that he earned through merely _existing_. To his mind, it was only right and proper that his elevated status bring to him superiority in every respect of his life.

Yet, on occasion, he chose to indulge himself in a baser sort of conquest. He was not, of course, considering the delectable little treat he'd acquired from the Academy; no, that was, in its own way, a far higher tier of win in that it had required almost no actual effort on his part. That girl had lost to him the moment he laid eyes on her, and then gone out of her way to ensure that loss through her own thought processes.

The lower victory here was to be found in one Guiche de Gramont. Although the boy's attempts at posturing and self-proclaimed heroism were amusing in their own right it was just as much fun to see the hope gradually fade as he'd effortlessly crushed every attempt to stymie his enjoyment of the servant girl. Then, just as he'd thought the situation had finally gone barren of any further entertainment, the child had challenged him to a duel.

Now, while Mott felt hat he certainly did feel a legitimate kinship with the… what was it, _fourth_ son of the House de Gramont? While he felt that way it wasn't nearly a strong enough sensation to make him even consider letting someone else beat him. Losing was a thing that happened to other people.

Idly, he slid out of the way of a clumsy sword stroke. Really, the boy wasn't that bad. Being able to maintain this many golems at once was a rather impressive feat! Not to mention that their swordsmanship was, while not professional-tier, certainly had a greater depth to it than simply swinging their blades at the target.

Water-Water; Pressure Burst. Another suit of armour toppled as the precisely applied Line spell unbalanced it. As long as he limited himself to magic of that level Guiche would run out of Willpower _long_ before him. Even if the young man seemed to not actually be using any spells yet the effort of sustaining and commanding the golems had to be draining.

Speaking of… something was off. He could feel it in the rain. Between attacks he released a basic Dot spell that gently pushed against all the water in a fifteen metre radius or so. The effect of this created a rough image in his mind of the various combatants. Yet, at some point during the last exchange, he'd lost track of Guiche.

Mott cast downwards as he moved back. He was pushed to the very surface of the thick layer of water that had formed on his lawn. How unfortunate for Guiche that the drainage was so poor here. Almost as if there was some sort of stone basin underneath the ground that would prevent any water from seeping away. What a terrible coincidence that would be. Thus buoyed he slipped away from the armours and tried to re-acquire his primary concern.

… oh, Guiche. There were now ten golems; one of which carried a distinctively different shield than the others. He'd been smart enough to make it look like they were all carrying the same blade but he hadn't been able to alter the shields of the rest to match his new one before the duel. At least he'd _tried_ to smear the surface with mud but, even if the rain hadn't been washing it off, the shape was too different.

Well, if that was his trump card then how would he use it? Try and get close while he was distracted and break his footing, then disarm him. Or, with any luck, drop him up to his neck in the quagmire. Well, he'd probably need to be Line to manage that much. If this is the best he can do, though, then he might as well put the lad out of his misery now.

He allowed himself to stack three this time, and formed a much longer water tendril. It lashed itself to Guiche and curled around him; yanking him free of the crowd of golems and binding his limbs. At the end it curled itself around the sword and, with a sharp twist, snapped it off at the hilt. Rather shoddy workmanship, really, but he was disarmed now.

"It's over, Guiche de Gramont. You may declare his forfeit now, Viscount."

Yet Wardes remained silent.

* * *

One of the ignored golems picked up a shield from in the muck. The rest shifted as they continued their charge as well they should; they had not the intelligence to recognize the capture of their 'master'. As the Viscount remained silent and the charge continued, as understanding began to dawn on Mott's face and his eyes flicked across the crowd of attackers, as he finally spotted the _second_ suit of armour with a differently-shaped shield it was almost too late.

Certainly, changing all of the shields to match his new one before, or during, the duel was currently beyond his capabilities. But one? He could do one.

Guiche raised the shield as Mott flung his arm around. He hurled the boy's own creation at him and the response was easy; it was unmade in mid-air and broke apart into a shower of loose bits as he revoked the invested energy with but a thought. That was the other advantage of his new design, Guiche thought as the small parts bounced off his defence.

Next Mott desperately twisted in place, trying to pull the water tendril back into an attack position. While he maintained the spell he couldn't move easily, yet the momentum that Guiche had gained was too much to be easily thwarted without striking him first. His first trump card already successfully deployed, Guiche engaged his second.

The spell crashed against the shield and the entire body of the attack collapsed a moment later. There was a brief glow as a light of some sort moved from the water to the shield, and then it was lost in a unified war cry; one that came not only from the helmet of the Valkyrie that Guiche de Gramont was wearing like a suit of armour but also from the spiked shield 'Derflinger' strapped to his left arm. It, too, had heard the injustice of this evening's conversation and was finally freed of its oath to remain silent so as not to alert their enemy to their plan.

Sheer, unadulterated panic filled Mott's face as Guiche closed the last few metres. He was very likely unsure if the young man was planning to check his swing; in that moment, even the boy in question didn't know the answer for sure. Yet, even in the midst of unmitigated terror, he retained enough composure to allow for one last spell.

Fog exploded across the battlefield as the temperature dropped sharply. Groundwater joined with Rain to form a high wall of ice that Guiche crashed right into with a sickening 'crack' that caused the two men watching to both wince in spite of themselves. The structure lasted for only a moment before collapsing into a pile of knee-high slurry. As for the young noble himself; he stumbled backwards, dazed, as Mott unleashed high-speed ice spears right into the legs of his remaining Valkyries, one by one; launching two at once by twinning the same spell across dual wands.

Then the two wand-tips trained themselves on Guiche. The young man forced himself, against all odds, to bring together a coherent single Earth and began to squeeze out the beginning of an incantation despite the ringing in his ears.

Earth.

It was there, ready to be released, yet it wasn't enough. Guiche pulled and reached and begged and prayed as his head throbbed. Mott's lips were moving but he couldn't make out any sounds beyond a high-pitched whine. Yet it seemed to him that the man had decided that some injury might be acceptable, since he had the option of healing him after the battle was concluded in his favour.

Earth… Earth… Earth… Earth _-Earth._

It wasn't all that spectacular, in the end. Not some vast, divine revelation with shining lights and a sensation of newfound grandiosity. More like a quiet 'click' in some dark corner of his mind as he neatly and easily slotted a second element into place. He tripped over some of the words in the incantation due to a combination of surprise and what he estimated to be a light concussion, so when the spell was released his muscles stiffened a bit more than they ought to have.

However, the look on Mott's face when his ice needle struck Guiche's knee, pierced the soft bronze of the armour and then shattered into a thousand pieces on the suddenly hardened skin beneath was worth it. He lifted up another ice barrier but this time the young man slammed into it shield-first; as the spikes dug into it all cohesiveness was lost and the barrier became just another pile of white sludge.

Guiche advanced, wrenching another two elements together as he did so.

* * *

A series of impossibilities, one after another, had shaken Mott's nerves substantially. He'd been mistaken in his estimation of the boy's tactical abilities and forced to use a trump card of his own. Then he'd been mistaken in terms of the boy's own basic prowess when his attempt to take him out of the fight as efficiently as possible had been apparently stymied by what _had_ to be a Line spell at the very least.

Water-Air-Water, then, for a freezing riptide that would ice over the cocky little bastard's joints. He had no shame in using Triangle magic at this point; Mott would be glad to do so freely and continuously until the end. Better to overestimate him right now than underestimate him. Yet even then, as he quite suddenly discovered, that much would not suffice.

His Arctic Geyser was met with a Sandblast coming in the opposite direction. That made it clear; Guiche was a Line mage and, given earlier rumors and discussions, had to have achieved that during this very duel. But to be a freshly minted Line and force out a functional Oppositional spell was both impressive and incredibly foolish. The strain would be immense. There was no way it would work out in his favour, even if it was his only chance of evenly matching with a Triangle spell that bordered on Square in this weather.

Unless, it seemed, one was daft enough to charge on through the ongoing clash between the two spells in order to lunge for their opponent. As Guiche smashed his way through the swirling slurry of sand, water and ice Mott felt a twinge of some half-recalled sensation in his stomach. It felt much like what he remembered fear to be like; yet, that was utterly ludicrous. What was there to fear from this… this brat?

The answer was, Mott mused as the flick of a sword caught his wand and neatly removed well over half of it, quite a lot. He went for a quick single Water in riposte; flicking a globe of water at Guiche's face with the other hand. Much to his surprise the distracting splash was successfully blocked and, as he tried to draw another wand with his left hand, Mott found himself disarmed yet again.

This bizarre stalemate persisted for several repetitions; he attempted to get a wand into his left hand so he could strike at the boy from the side not protected by that bizarre, cackling, profanity-spewing, magic-absorbing shield and Guiche, in turn, neatly prevented him from doing so with deft feints and quick slices. Twice, when Mott attempted some sleight of hand to stymie the attempts, he simply slapped the man's gloved fingers with the flat of the blade.

Then, quite suddenly, Mott realized that the helmet was getting much closer to his face.

* * *

The sound of metal meeting nose was a mirror of the earlier helmet versus wall debacle, albeit one that contained a certain visceral satisfaction for the two audience members. Kenneth actually cheered with manic glee, screeching out at the top of his lungs; "Aye, lad, tha's how ye use yer heid!" In spite of himself, and in the blood coating his faceplate, Guiche grinned.

It didn't take long for the mirth to turn savage, however. He quickly stood on Mott's right wrist, pinning down the only hand with a wand still in it, and laid his blade at the man's throat. The Viscount stepped forward to give his proclamation, to end the match, but Kenneth caught his arm and shook his head slowly.

"... yield, Count. Or perhaps _I_ may see fit to administer _proper discipline_ of my own." The taller man was spitting and frothing with blood and rage alike. They made a rather nice tableau in the falling rain, with ruined Valkyries and shards of broken ice littered about them. It was an almost poetic moment.

"Damn you, boy, I shall not! You have not the-" But whatever it was that Guiche was lacking would have to remain a mystery to him, as he'd just put his sword through Mott's left shoulder. It slid in easily; in fact, he couldn't even tell when he'd met bone. The blade simply slid right on through and into the ground as easily as if he were sheathing it.

"Apparently I am replete in whatever it is, Count. You are beaten, and by the rules we agreed to I needn't let up until you surrender." They glared each other; enraged glare meeting with an impassive bronze visage. Then, speaking the words as if they were the greatest curse he could imagine, Mott relented.

"I yield."

* * *

It had all been somewhat of a blur from there. Guiche had managed to step off the Count and Wardes had gotten the servants to take him away; he'd said he would keep an eye on the man as he healed himself up. Kenneth had taken up position directly to the rear of his master and, once Mott was out of sight, went from subtly supporting his charge from behind to openly propping him up.

Guiche collapsed forward regardless, tearing off the helmet and immediately throwing up into the mud. His familiar said nothing; merely patting him on the back as he alternated between further adrenaline fuelled dry heaves and deep, breathless wheezing.

"Oh Founder… oh Lord, I just stabbed the Queen's Messenger in the shoulder. I must be insane. What in the Hells did I just do? Must be out of my damned mind!" He quivered on the spot, partially from the fading high and partially from the chill of the rain. Kenneth just stood there, being nice and warm, and let him work through it.

It didn't take too long for the panic to become a chuckle, and then a deep, full-bodied laugh. Guiche laughed and laughed until he was almost sick again; after which his mood seemed to decide on a sort of disbelieving glee.

"C'mon, lad. Let's tidy ye up a bit, eh?" Guiche nodded and hauled himself to his feet by way of Kenneth's shoulder. The dwarf had already retrieved the discarded rose wand, along with the hat and cloak that had been set aside in order to fit in the Valkyrie. Even though he was shivering he took a moment to retrieve the remnants of his creations and then at last had the bright idea to cast a basic Fire cantrip to warm his aching extremities.

"Brimir's beard, Kenneth, did I really run headfirst into a wall of ice? I disarmed him as well, didn't I? Three times at least… no, four; it must have been four! I can scarcely remember, now." His familiar chuckled lightly as he supported his disciple on their stumbling walk back to the manor. Mott was waiting for them; shoulder bandaged and expression sour. Wardes spotted them enter and leisurely crossed the distance with an easy smile on his face.

"That was well done, lad. Very well done." He laid a hand on the young man's shoulder in a way that felt disturbingly familiar. "You've got plenty of pluck, I'll say that much for you. Those were some brave gambits. Foolish, sure, but brave." Ah, of course, that was the source of the familiarity, wasn't it? It was standing just over there, glowering and standing stiffly in the warm air of the foyer.

The Viscount removed his hand and tipped his head to the both of them, accepting his cloak and hat from Kenneth. However, after a brief pause, he placed the latter firmly on Guiche's head. "You've earned this, I think. If you've improved even half as much as I think you will then once you're out of the Academy I'd be glad to sponsor you for entry into the Griffon knights. Consider this a downpayment on that offer, hm?" Guiche couldn't help but beam up at him, and straightened the hat.

"Thank you, Sir Wardes. You do me a great honour." The atmosphere was significantly dampened by the approach of the sour-faced Mott, however, who had evidently grown tired of waiting any longer.

"Guiche de Gramont. I am not in the habit of losing, particularly not to children." Oh, surely not? Kenneth bristled alongside Guiche as the pair of them prepared for whatever trick the bastard was planning to pull on them at the last minute. "And I now find myself in the position of greatly wanting to call 'foul' on the result of our little contest…"

Then, much to everyone's surprise, Mott's expression softened. "However, I find that I cannot. You have bested me by your own skill more than anything. Take the girl with my blessings, Guiche. In the end, I still think that you and I are far more alike than you realize." The young noble drew himself up, expression as regal as he could manage with the throbbing pain across his temples.

"Of all the insults you have offered to me and mine, Count, I think that may very well be the greatest. Any blessing of yours would leave me a poorer man for having accepted it." Mott nodded, looking slightly saddened. As much as an hour ago Guiche might have felt sorry for him. A few minutes ago, perhaps anger. Now, though, there was naught but a faint sensation of bile welling up in his throat.

"... very well." Mott turned away as, with impeccable timing, two servants arrived. One Guiche recognized, if only barely; the other was another of the Count's. "Siesta of Tarbes, I release you from your contract ahead of time. Huxley?" He addressed now the man that had brought the young lady. "See that she is paid what she is owed. I am nothing if I am not gracious in my defeat." Then he strode out, leaving them be.

The seneschal counted out a number of gold coins and then delivered them into Siesta's bag, then took his leave as well; although not before informing him that the spare carriage had been made ready for their departure, at the Count's command. For some reason, the easy magnanimity of the loser just made Guiche that much angrier at the man. Every part the Nobleman; save the last. It made the contradiction that much more offensive to him.

He put it aside for now and instead faced the trembling young girl. She obviously recognized him, obviously had no idea why he was here. Guiche decided to make it abundantly clear by bowing deeply to her.

"My lady; I must apologize. I have done a great disservice to you by insinuating malicious causation on your part of an incident for which I was entirely to blame. I have done an even greater disservice to my family name by offering violence toward your person. I deeply apologize for my wrongdoing, and hope that you may accept this rescue as evidence of my sincerity. Please know that, should you find yourself unable to gain employment as a result of my hasty actions, I will gladly reimburse you for your lost wages until such a time as you may do so."

The servant girl was obviously taken aback; and rightly so. If she wished to never work again in her life then Guiche had just offered to enable that. It was a tremendous gesture and, yet, was the only one that he could consider might possibly match the sincere regret he had come to feel over his actions; a regret that was only magnified by hearing every twisted reasoning that had issued forth from Mott's venomous tongue.

"I… I thank you, Lord Gramont; that will not be needed. The Headmaster assured me I would be allowed to return to the Academy once I had left the Count's service. And, pray, do not lower your head to me; you needn't apologize for anything." Guiche steeled himself and straightened up, fixing her with the most sincere gaze he could. He had to resist his urge to dramatically grasp her shoulders for emphasis.

"I am afraid that is not true. Please, Siesta; you know that is not so." She swallowed heavily, turning her gaze to the other nobleman in the room. Viscount Wardes looked away, whistling innocently; the message being conveyed was clear enough.

"... you are forgiven, Lord Gramont. And… thank you. Truly. I… I never expected such kindness." Her cheeks tinged faintly red and she broke her gaze, clutching her belongings to her chest as she did so.

"Ah. Yes, well… it was only proper that I take responsibility. Besides which, I am not the only one you need thank! Ser Kenneth and Viscount Wardes were instrumental in your safe retrieval." Siesta curtsied to the both of them; Kenneth waving off the thanks as unnecessary and Wardes accepting them with a flourish and the kiss of a hand. Perhaps a little showy but, unlike with Mott, not drenched in sinister undertones. It was a rather refreshing change. "Very well, Viscount, we'd best be off. Seems the storm has abated for a time." Wardes nodded and tipped an imaginary hat to the boy and his dwarf.

"Stop by the Capitol when you have your holidays, lad; if you like. I like to give my squire time off now and then, but it gets dull without anyone to train in the meantime." The two of them grinned and then laughed together, Guiche straightening the gifted hat as he did so.

"I shall endeavour to do so, then. And thank you once more for your help." They parted ways, then; Wardes retrieving his rather crotchety Griffon from the stables and Guiche assisting Siesta up into the carriage. Kenneth secured his belongings and then took the reins. Before too long the manor-house was fading away into the distance as the two occupants of the carriage sat in a slightly awkward silence.

In the end, by the time either one of them had finally worked up the nerve to start up a legitimate conversation they were only minutes away from the Academy's gates.


	14. Bronze and Sinister

The carriage came to a halt in the courtyard and, before Guiche could object, Saito had opened the door to help him down. Any protest he could have given was silenced by the servant; he would not hear of any modesty, genuine or false, from the young nobleman. Something about that, or perhaps just in general, felt deeply troubling to him.

"By your leave, Master Gramont, I shall return our horse to the stables and then tidy up; the ride back has left me a frightful mess. Siesta, if you would be so good?" He offered his arm to the other servant and she took it with a smile that was warm and infectious. Guiche found himself matching it. It was good, though, that someone had remembered the horse they'd brought along with them; he'd completely forgotten about it on the way out.

Although, now that he thought about it he felt a bit bad for Saito; riding it back with them in that weather. The horse looked exhausted as well; surely the return trip hadn't been that hard a ride? It looked as if it might drop dead at any moment.

"C'mon, lad. Let's get ye a hot bath, an' some hot food, an' a soft bed. No training tomorrow, ye kin just rest your aches and soothe yer pains." Kenneth patted him on the shoulder and opened the baggage compartment to retrieve Guiche's personal belongings for him.

"The nerve! Sticking me in with the luggage like some common buckler! I am a _proper_ Coat of Arms, and I shall thank you to show some respect!" The Dwarf sighed and passed the shield to his master with a resigned expression. Ah, that's right. He'd stuck it in there when it had made a few untoward comments towards Siesta.

"Ah didnae get t'introduce ye properly afore. Guiche de Gramont, this here's Derflinger; yer new anti-magic shield. Derf, this'd be my lad, Guiche. Ah know ye met in th' store but consider this a proper re-introduction." Ugh. Well… even if it was rather crass a magical talking shield was… well, it was still a magical talking shield. One that had been instrumental in the saving of Siesta, to boot.

"I am honoured to meet you, mighty Derflinger, and I thank you for your valiant assistance in our mission tonight." Oh, _Founder_ the mouth. How had he not noticed the mouth? It was a strip of metal along the top of the shield that moved as it spoke which gave the impressive of a vast, gaping maw.

"No worries, partner! I gotta say, Kenneth, I wasn't exactly sold on the idea of being a shield when you first pitched the idea to me, but that was great fun! I guess if I can absorb magic it makes way more sense for me to be in a shape that can block it, huh?" The mouth _grinned_. Without teeth. How. "But hey, partner, don't forget to use me to crack some skulls once in a while too, huh? These spikes aren't just for decoration." It was chuckling. The way the metallic not-lip moved when it laughed was almost hypnotic.

"I shall… endeavour to keep that in mind." Tucking the shield under one arm and shaking his head slightly, Guiche began to walk to the entryway. He should probably tell Montmorency about what happened as soon as possible… have her see if anything was broken. Now that he thought about it, there was still a faint ringing in his ears and he was pretty sure that he'd bled a little from… somewhere. Actually, now he wasn't so sure any more.

"Hey, speaking of decorations… partner… help a piece of armour out, will ya? I'd like a tiny little favour for giving you a block back there. Fair's fair, right?" Guiche started slightly, trying to figure out who was talking to him when he remembered Derflinger. Yes, seeing Montmorency, and the school Healer, sounded like an excellent idea.

"I would gladly fulfil any request you may have of me, Derflinger." Somehow, as soon as he said it, Guiche realized that was the wrong thing to say. He could feel the perverse glee radiating from the metal under his arm and he really wasn't sure how that was possible, or how he could so easily identify the sensation.

"Excellent! Just get some nice young lady to give me a good polish, maybe a bit of a wax, and we'll call it even, right? Okay, great! What a kind and conscientious partner you are, boy. I think I'll enjoy working with you." The young man sagged slightly between two steps and shook his head slowly.

"I… shall see what I can do." Feeling like he had, in some undefinable way, lost some sort of grand battle Guiche de Gramont continued to trudge toward the well-earned comforts of an infirmary, a warm bath, a hot meal, and his own bed.

* * *

The rain was heavy, but Mott could barely hear it from where he was. His private rooms were deep within the palatial estate and well-insulated from the unpleasant sounds of the weather and the hustle and bustle of his own home alike. It was dead silent; just the way he liked it. If he ever found a way to simulate the faint sound of a light breeze through rigging and a subtle creaking of wood then it would be just perfect.

Days like this didn't come often to him. When they did, however, he frequently found himself wishing that he'd never left the sea. Things were simpler when you were out on the ocean. Just the rolling of the ship and the soft noise of the swell around you. Certainly, the life he had now was far more comfortable, and yet…

He drew his razor across his cheek and then flicked the lather off into the marble basin. After such a thorough trouncing he'd felt a need to smarten himself up. He'd set his nose earlier and had just finished rinsing the mud, and blood, off his face. The real defeat tonight, he mused as he turned his head to one side and eyed the expensive Germanian mirror, was the loss of Guiche de Gramont's confidence. While the loss had been thoroughly due to his own foolishness the boy had shown remarkable gumption.

Really, next to the potential political gains he'd forfeited having to give up the girl barely even stung. Which wasn't to say that he'd let such a slight against him go unpunished, of course; he just had to think of an appropriately subtle method of returning his ire. Perhaps he could find out who had authority over that village of Tarbes and encourage them to consider a few simple reforms to the Lord's Tariffs?

A faint hint of a chill breeze made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Mott frowned, flicking the straight razor closed and laying it down on the edge of his bason as he nonchalantly picked up the nearby towel to wipe his face. The other hand dipped into the sleeve of his dressing gown and withdrew a spare wand.

He'd been loath to use this spell on Guiche during the fight because it was still a Triangle one but, as exposed as he felt at that moment, it wouldn't do to be careless. He whispered the incantation to himself, eyes firmly fixed on the mirror, and then released. A pure Water spell of his own design, based on healing principles and rather complicated in its function. The gist of it was that he was pushing, very lightly yet indiscriminately, on blood.

Mott turned around and moved his hand from left to right. As he did so he felt for any subtle changes in the resistance on his wand hand that would indicate a hidden presence. The only force he could feel was the one pushing away from him; the resistance of his own body. He frowned, stepping out into his rooms and quickly spying a tray left on the table beside the door.

It was a pot of tea, with a small note from the Head Maid. He smiled faintly; she'd brewed his favourite blend. It was a cheap Albion blend with a distinctly powerful odor that put many people off and simply reminded him of earlier days. The chill must have come in when she opened the door.

He poured himself a cup and carried it into the bathroom, putting it up on the shelf below the mirror. Its powerful scent filled the small room quickly and he sighed happily. Mott was often thankful for the diligence of his servants; he accepted only the best and, in doing so, found that his expectations were frequently exceeded. He'd been reminded of that just the other day, at the Academy, when he'd seen… he'd seen… seen…

The Count's brow furrowed as his carriage of thought lost a wheel. Something about the Academy? How peculiar. Perhaps he was just feeling a little flustered after the defeat. Now where… he looked down, frowning, as his groping hand met cold marble for the third time in his efforts to relocate his straight razor. Had he knocked it down in his haste to check the room?

Perhaps the chill had merely been a sign of an oncoming cold, as he suddenly felt quite warm. Mott looked up and saw two things at once. First was the line of red visible just under his chin that was starting to turn into a band around his neck. Second was the indistinct hooded figure standing in his mirror and staring at him with shining golden eyes.

There was a clatter and, as his gaze dropped involuntarily, he saw that his wand had hit the floor. It was surrounded by drops of blood. His blood? His knees were quivering. Mott felt for a moment like he'd fallen through his legs and then his arms caught on the marble countertop and he was barely able to hold himself up. So dizzy… how much… how much blood had he lost?

He looked down again, vision swimming as he tried to reach for the wand. It was right there, but his fingers wouldn't move. Blood was dripping from his wrist. The tendons were cut. When had that happened? He hadn't felt anything. There was a flicking noise and Mott found himself staring into the reflective surface of a razor, his own terrified eyes shining back at him, with the edge just barely reddened with blood. His blood.

 _"_ _You are bleeding to death, Count."_ The voice was… it was his voice. Exactly his voice, in every minute detail. Yet not. It dripped with contempt, with malice, with sinister overtones. Was that what he sounded like? It couldn't be. His let arm could still move and he tried reaching into his robe. Questing fingers found only empty pouches. His eyes flickered away from the reflection and down to the wand on the floor. It wasn't there.

 _"_ _No. There is no escape."_ A snap, then a clatter. Mott turned his head and then the pain came. It was sharp and crisp, like a searing line around his neck and under his wrist. He opened his mouth to scream and it was filled with cloth instead. Held tight, restricting his movement and his speech as well. His head was twisted to the side and he could see two halves of one of his wands laying on the tiles.

Another snap. Then another, and another. As his head swam through a thick soup and his vision began to blacken Mott saw all but one of his broken wands tossed aside. The last one was dangled in front of him like a carrot before an ass. _"_ _You were right. If you were not gracious in defeat then you would be_ _ **nothing**_ _but a cooling corpse in this moment. The Banner protects their own, Count."_ His eyes watered.

He was going to die. In his own home, his own bathroom. There were pipes in the walls he could have caused to burst, tanks of water secured under the floor, weapons and extra implements secreted all over the bedroom and he carried no less than seven wands on his person. Mott had always known he had enemies, but this…

 _"_ _However… you_ were _gracious. So, you can have this. There will be no retribution. Guiche de Gramont, Kenneth Manson, Louise de la Vallière, Saito of Vallière, Viscount Wardes and especially Siesta of Tarbes_ _ **will**_ _be_ _ **left alone**_ _. Are we clear, Count?"_ He was given enough slack to nod his head, making sounds he could only hope were conciliatory.

 _"_ _I hope you are not just saying what I want to hear. But if that is the case then keep something in mind."_ The person pulled on the gag, yanking Mott's head skyward. He felt a gush of fresh blood from his neck as dark spots danced in his vision. His assailant's next line was a harsh whisper so close to his ear that he could feel their breath.

 _"_ _Your guards did not see me. I walked right in with your maid. I slit your throat and your tendons before you even knew I was here. If you turn your back on this oath, Count Mott, then you might just find your shaving hand once again…"_ The razor reappeared in his vision, shining like a star in the light of the oil lamps. _"_ _... slips. I will see my own self out."_ Then the pressure vanished. Mott collapsed on to his side, rolling over and scrabbling frantically for the last wand where it had clattered to the floor.

He had to jam the tip against his throat and force every ounce of incantationless casting he could muster in order to seal it enough for him to speak. Forget the throat; his windpipe had been opened up. By the time he'd closed the cut on his neck and reattached the tendons in his right wrist he was utterly exhausted. In fact, his reckoning was that if he'd cast even a single extra Triangle spell in that duel he would've passed out after sealing up his throat and subsequently bled to death on the tiles from the cut on his wrist.

When his maid found him laid there several hours later, tea cold, he told her that he'd cut himself shaving and taken a tumble when he was startled. The blood was quickly cleaned up and the Count was bundled up into his bed. Long after he'd taken several potent potions to promote healing and all of his servants had left him be he sat there, turning his straight razor in both hands as he stared at it.

Try as he might, all he could recall of the attacker were the golden eyes, a vague sensation of 'crimson', and a presence that that could only have been described as sinister.

* * *

 _Dwarf of Bronze: End of Act Two_


	15. Interlude: Blood and Wolf

Although her chain shirt was the only reason that she was alive now it was difficult to say if that was better than the alternative. The two options became increasingly indistinct as she stumbled through thick snow deep in the woods of Albion. Pain exploded through her with every shaky step as she forced herself forward.

It was impossible to not think about her mortality at a time like this. There was, after all, a latticework of thin burns all across her chest. It had only been luck that had prevented her from dying, the unseen bolt of lightning diffusing itself across her hidden armour and searing her skin instead of her heart, she was sure of it; that and holding her breath long enough for him to leave had been pure agony.

She'd been sloppy. Careless. Parts of her were saying that she didn't _deserve_ to survive this. That she ought to just lay down and die. Well bugger all of those stupid insecurities. She had no time for them. By now they'd have absolutely realized she was still alive and her trail wouldn't be hard to follow. If there was an Air Mage amongst those sent to clean up the evidence… but no, they'd use _Fire_ for that.

A tree root beneath the snow caught her foot and she tumbled forward. That wasn't good. Deprived of the momentum that had kept her going her legs simply refused to move. She'd been going forward on sheer force of will alone; hoping against hope that she'd come across a cave or a fallen tree or some form of shelter, of any kind.

So cold.

There were horns in the distance, and the baying of hounds. They'd found her. That was it, then. She reached forward and pushed herself over on to her back. With trembling hands she began to reload her expended pistols; the bolt that had torn into her back had fused and ruined the firing mechanism of her musket.

Not much powder left, and precious few balls as well. Didn't matter. Two pistols… so she could kill one of them out of spite, at least. The dogs were louder, now. One sounded particularly close. If she squinted she could just about make out a black shape in the middle distance. Would they let the animals maul her, or call them off and try and take her prisoner?

Hoofbeats sounded as a rider cleared the horizon. So that's how they caught up to her so quickly. She had no idea how far she'd gone or how long it had been since her escape. As the rider approached she sighted along her arm and closed an eye. Exhale…

Her ears rang as the rider fell backwards. The horse bolted the wrong way for her to try and grasp the reins as it passed, or some such foolishness. It hadn't been much of a hope, really. Just a last ditch thought toward her survival. There was no great lamentation or heavy sigh. Even in this circumstance she wasn't a melodramatic person.

Instead she lifted the other pistol and pressed the barrel against the underside of her chin, cocking it with her thumb. She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing and stilling the tremble of her hands.

"I'm sorry, Henrietta." Perhaps she should say something more. Like how she couldn't keep her promise, or was leaving the Princess' service. But no, there was no point. Nobody was around to hear her final words.

Agnes pulled the trigger, and was rewarded with nothing but a futile click.

* * *

Ordinary people run away from gunfire. This is just a fact of the world. However, as her sister frequently said right before becoming teary-eyed and hugging her, she was anything but normal. Perhaps it was just a wandering hunter, in which case she could see if he had any game to buy… a hunter out in these woods in the middle of winter… who was wealthy enough to afford a gun for hunting.

No, even her seemingly boundless optimism had its limits. It was more likely to be soldiers again. The patrols in the area had finally died down recently, after weeks of dodging them in her efforts to pick herbs for medicine and trap what few woodland creatures were still awake for food to supplement their rather bland stockpile.

They were well set for the rest of Winter, and beyond, due to the money that still arrived via clandestine messengers. Every time she got a new purse of coins she tried not to think what her sister was doing to earn the money… what indignities she might have been willing to suffer for the sake of her family.

Even so, when one of the children grew ill she still had to go out in search of the right plants to brew up a basic remedy. Something to soothe sore throats and runny noses, at the very least. For whatever reason she'd never been particularly bothered by the cold and so it was no real trouble… up until she'd heard the gunfire.

When she arrived it was to a bizarre, horrific tableau of red on white. There was one figure lying against a tree and two bodies beside her. A third was in the middle distance, crumpled up on the ground amidst messy hoofprints, and then two more scattered to her left and right. Three men stood around the prone figure and were currently engaged in putting the boot in, as it were.

They weren't wearing a proper uniform but each of them had the red strip that marked them as soldiers under the crimson banner of Reconquista; the new de facto rulers of Albion. Whatever this matter was… her heart ached to see it but she didn't want to interfere. They hadn't noticed her yet and there was nothing she could do for the poor man down there; assuming he was even still alive.

Then one of the men stepped back and she caught a glimpse of their target. She had already moved out from behind the tree and was walking towards them before she could stop herself. One of them heard the crunch of feet on snow and turned to face her. He relaxed a bit on seeing her and opened his mouth, presumably to ward her off.

Whatever he might have been about to say died on his lips as Tiffania pushed back her hood and did her best to glare defiantly at the soldier. It wasn't a very good glare but she could have smiled sweetly at him and it would have had the same effect. The man screamed with abject terror and as his companions looked up they quickly joined him.

The trio practically fell over themselves as they fled. She stood there until they were out of sight and then moved as quickly as she could. First was stripping off as much weight as she could from the injured woman. The chain shirt went and, as it did, she discovered a latticework of bloody welts underneath.

With great distaste, Tiffania took the least bloody cloaks from the dead soldiers and bundled up the unconscious woman. She still had a heartbeat, and was breathing as well, so that was a small mercy. Although she wasn't strong enough to carry her any distance she could drag her relatively smoothly by making a makeshift litter out of the various cloaks… might as well use the bloody ones for that.

The snow made for an easy ride for her patient, at least, She trudged forward as fast as she could, dragging the litter along with her and painfully aware of the trail she was leaving. If this person was even remotely important to them then even the fear of elves wouldn't hold them back for long.

That had been stupid. So, so stupid. Years of careful hiding thrown away for a stranger. It was a truly foolish choice she'd made… but she wouldn't regret it. Maybe the woman was a bad person who deserved what she'd gotten, although knowing the Reconquista she doubted that, but leaving her there like that...

They'd almost reached the orphanage when she heard the dogs. Not that they'd need them to follow her; although, the scent of blood was likely thick along the trail she'd left. She tried to break into a run but it was difficult to build up any momentum while dragging an injured woman. Even then, the best she could do would be to barricade the door. Then, when they got inside, the children…

Not for the first time, Tiffania wished she could do magic. Proper magic, that is. There was her ring, but that was sitting in a small box under her bed safe and sound. Besides, even if she healed the woman there was no guarantee she'd wake up and be able to fight off the soldiers.

In desperation she welled up what energy she could muster and tried to force it out into the world. She focused on the idea of Fire and tried to say the incantations that her sister had taught her. Nothing happened. She tossed power into the yawning abyss and nothing returned to her. The only result was a slight tingling in her joints and a faint tremor of exhaustion across her body.

The pursuers sounded close enough for her to pick out the sounds of hoofbeats kicking up snow. She let the last vestiges of power gathered power trickle away and fell to her knees. Matilda would be so upset when she found out. That was the worst bit, in her mind. All the effort that she'd put forward to help and in the end Tiffania had tossed it all away for the sake of a woman she didn't even know.

She tried one last time, not even knowing what she expected at this point. Gathering strength and prayer as one to cast them forth in the hopes of something, anything, happening. If she could just figure out the trick… but, no. The power flowed out of her and didn't even disturb the snow.

Dogs barked and horses charged as the soldiers grew closer.

* * *

A single eyelid lifted to unleash a raging storm. It was contained, however, by the dimensions of the eye beneath; a blizzard contained in a gaze. The owner of the tempest slowly lifted itself from the ground and stared at the intrusion into its home.

There was a tear in the air, an impossible opening in this equally impossible realm. Green light shone around the edges of a colourless hole in space that shimmered and distorted. The beast could feel the call echoing from within in some inexplicable way. A desperate plea of a frightened child.

As it stepped forward a smaller figure all in red shifted with discomfort at the removal of its source of warmth. Shining eyes inched open and met with a pale stare. Something deep and incomprehensible passed between the two entities for a moment that lasted an eternity. Then the beast turned and moved into the portal.

* * *

The leader of the raiding party cursed his luck as the wind began to pick up. They had a strong trail from where the woman had killed the first group but even a light squall could bury it in a few inches of snow. Not for the last time he bemoaned the weather, the cold, the damn bitch they were chasing and his unsympathetic superior all in the same breath.

Then, quite suddenly, their horses skidded to a halt. The lead animal reared violently and threw its rider, turning moments later and nearly trampling the man as it ran away. He spat and crossed himself to ward off heresy. Elfin magic, no doubt. Assuming the babbling idiots who'd lost the girl had been telling the truth.

Until that moment he'd doubted they were. There had been no signs of magic where they'd found the five bodies and, by the mens' own accounts, those had been the work of the woman herself. Even half dead she'd killed five of his contingent. The so-called elf that had 'saved' her hadn't killed any. He'd thought they must have run away when she killed the others and made up a story.

Now, though? As he felt the terror in the tensed muscles of the animal underneath him the Captain was reconsidering. He'd rallied to the crimson banner due to the promise of 'redistributed' wealth and titles, not to fight elves. As he considered calling off the chase entirely he heard the sound.

It was a long, powerful howl that pierced the chill air and set every living creature in the group to trembling. The dogs strained at the end of their long tethers but were no longer trying to rush forward in search of prey. No, they were desperately trying to break their bonds and flee into the night. His horse was stamping in place, twitching under him; too well trained to bolt, but not nearly broken enough to go any closer to that sound.

Of greatest concern to the Captain himself, however, was the simple fact that he knew there were no wolves in Albion. Yet that was, unmistakably, the howl of a wolf. What else could it be? No dog could make a sound like that, especially not the local breeds; all lithe and bred for hunting, lacking the stoutness of chest that could cause such a deep sound.

He wanted to tell them to retreat. Surely such creatures would focus on the wounded woman? But no, there was no way this was a coincidence. Some heretical power was at work here. He dismounted and lead his horse to a tree, tying it there. Ten men were selected to come with him. Stout soldiers, an extra Noble bastard amongst them, so that made two mages with him included. The rest stayed to guard the horses as they pressed on.

Without the dogs they were reliant on the rapidly disappearing trail and so they did their best to move fast. Neither of them were strong enough in Water to solidify the snow or somesuch, but the other mage was Air aligned with sufficient power to provide them some reprieve from the biting wind.

Something came charging between the trees and he almost flung a fireball at it before he realized it was one of the forward team's horses. Another followed it, and another. Not a single rider between them. The men muttered amongst themselves, tossing out words like 'witchcraft'. He didn't berate them for it; after all, he was feeling much the same.

In the middle distance something white moved. He tried to catch it in his field of vision but it was shifting around the edges constantly. Whatever it was moved fast. They told stories to children about elves taking animal form and stealing naughty kids away if they wandered off the paths, and such, but if you believed everything ascribed to the damn things by folk tales you'd think that a lone one could conquer all of Halkegenia if it wanted to.

He turned to address his men, about to order them to take a rough circle formation, and then froze. A quick bit of mental arithmetic turned up one short, yet he'd definitely selected ten men to come with him. Nine nervous sets of eyes were looking to him for guidance now, though. Who was missing? Well, even if he knew their names how would he tell with everyone bundled up like this.

Then he saw the drops of red hanging in the air. More materialized as a gash opened up in nothingness; white fangs shining against red maw. He was acutely aware of his sword slipping between his fingers as a pair of eyes opened up above the mouth and a warmth that ran down his leg as he realized the magnitude of what they were facing.

The wolf lunged.

* * *

When it came for the rest they didn't realize until it was far too late. Even though it towered above the trees each footstep made no more sound than a wisp of fog curling over ice. It stood four men tall and many more than that from nose to tail yet moved with impossible speed and supernatural agility. Crossbow bolts failed to find purchase through thick fur and blades were smacked aside as they tried to fight back.

Even when they turned and ran there was no reprieve. Each man died quickly, but alone. The only sign each of the hunting parties had before being wiped out by the behemoth was the wind it carried with it picking up in its wake and their dogs first trying to flee in terror and then laying down in submission as it arrived in their midst.

When it returned to Tiffania it was accompanied by a score of hounds that followed some distance behind. Each still trembled in the presence of a creature so far above them that it may as well be their god. There was blood on its fur and muzzle. She knew, without a doubt, that it was human. It had killed them. Every last one of them.

It lay down before her and gently pressed his nose against her face. A faint white light still shone beneath the fur of its right paw as it sniffed at her. Then a vast tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth in a silent, canine chuckle.

The dogs dispersed, glad to be free of the monster that had slaughtered their masters. Said beast nudged the young girl out of the way and gently took the edge of the cloth litter in its mouth, lifting the injured woman off the ground and looking expectantly at the girl. Unsure as she was Tiffania still realized it was waiting for her to lead the way. Still shaking but feeling stronger with each step, she pulled herself together and began the slow trudge the rest of the way home.

Feeling mighty pleased with himself, the First Wolf followed behind her.


	16. Bronze and Wanting

Guiche finished his last set of warm-down stretches and then walked over to the chapter house's entrance. He removed his boots at the doorway, nodding to Siesta as she handed him a towel and then left her to await the remainder of the runners. The other servants had already laid the table and he relished the smell of hot porridge.

To think there would be a day that he would look forward to such… well, it was almost peasant food wasn't it? To be fair, he did take his with sliced banana and honey which was likely outside of the price range of a normal commoner. That thought stuck in his head for a few seconds and he couldn't help but frown.

He put it from his mind for the moment and began his breakfast. The far door that lead to the sleeping chambers opened up and the Grandmaster walked into the room. As he approached the breakfast table, one of the servants bringing forth a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages for him, he gave Guiche a companionable smile and a nod.

"Good morning, Grandmaster Wardes." A pained expression appeared on the Viscount's face at the mention of his unwanted title and he shook his head with a sigh.

"Please, Guiche; surely this appointment is penance enough without you constantly reminding me of my promotion." Well, that may be, but even if this was technically a penance assignment he still held the rank of Grandmaster of the Undine Knights. "Finished your morning run already? My word, that familiar of yours does good work." Guiche smiled.

"Well, I am simply more well practiced than most." His thoughts flashed to poor Malicorne, dogged and determined yet still bringing up the rear. "And Saito would easily have outpaced me were he not so concerned with making sure Louise finishes." The Princess' specific orders to the Viscount had been that he must take all volunteers regardless of his own feelings. Thus, even if Louise was still having trouble with her magic, and was a woman as well, she was allowed entry into the Order.

In fact, it had seemed like fully half of the school had signed up once word had gotten out. Perhaps a week after his encounter with Mott the Viscount had arrived at the Academy and made a stirring announcement. While Guiche couldn't quite recall the specific content of the address the general gist of it had been that Wardes was in charge of a new Knightly Order that would be taking volunteers from the student body.

The majority of the first years had dropped out after the first run; the major exception had been young Katie, much to Guiche's surprise. She'd taken to the training with an almost frightening fervor, and the way she went at the training dummies made him wonder if she was picturing a certain blond face as her target.

As for the second years, a fair few had remained; even more third years on top of that. His friends were all sticking around, of course, with Kirche still following Louise around unashamedly and the quiet girl that was almost always with her remained… well, almost always with her. She was doing quite well, actually. Some of the remainder surprised him. Take Malicorne, for instance. Even though he was always last in every exercise the rotund young man seemed to be giving it everything he had.

All in all, Guiche felt like the Viscount had a good crop. Perhaps they were a bit rough around the edges but they certainly had potential. Besides which, they had received significant donations from the parents of the various prospective initiates. His own father had received the news that Guiche was training as a Knight rather well and, in response, had arranged for a shipment of high-quality ore to be sent directly to them on the condition that Kenneth use it to make equipment for them.

His familiar had agreed without hesitation, practically drooling at the quantity and quality he'd been given to work with, and immediately set about taking measurements for all the survivors of the first week of training. Apparently he and Professor Colbert were making some interesting strides in metallurgy with their combined knowledge; Guiche had never seen the bald man look so happy as when he was putting together bits of various mechanisms.

Wardes stood, having finished his breakfast, and Guiche hurried to finish off his so he could follow the older man out into the courtyard. The building was a repurposed monastery that had been abandoned several years ago and had been donated from the Crown's land reserves. It wasn't very far from the academy and, once Kenneth had cleared the surrounding woodland a little, they could even see some of the towers in the distance.

"Even so, it seems I must once again reward you for your diligence. Shall we?" Wardes cast his cloak off as they entered, laying it over a bench, and Guiche placed his hat beside it. The older man chuckled slightly as they reached the middle ring; taking a pair of wooden practice swords from the rack. "I must say, boy, I didn't expect you to wear that thing everywhere when I gave it to you." He lunged suddenly, almost mid-word.

"Well!" Guiche sidestepped, slapping Wardes initial thrust down and attempting a riposte of his own. "I was considering having a matching cape made!" His clumsy attempt at a counterattack was easily dismantled, his sword effortlessly disarmed and a sharp rap laid across his shoulder.

"I feel like your familiar would be jealous if you did." The Grandmaster stood there expectantly as Guiche retrieved his weapon with a faint smile on his face. Mid-fight banter was somewhat of a tradition, and if he couldn't keep up then he felt that he'd failed in some way. Wardes kept up the waiting stare for a bit until the young man finally expounded upon his failures.

"I rushed in too quickly; I ought to have taken a moment to gain the full measure of your skill." Wardes nodded and began the next round. That was their pattern; trading roles seamlessly until Guiche was inevitably disarmed and then identified what mistake he'd made. If he didn't know then Wardes would take a few moments to explain and demonstrate the error.

The Viscount was a quality swordsman and an excellent teacher. Although Guiche still kept up his assigned routine as opposed to the basic training regime that Wardes had assigned to the rest of the hopefuls he still couldn't help but appreciate the man's talent for leadership.

By the time they finished their morning spar most of the other initiates had at last arrived in the courtyard and the reason for his growing admiration was revealed. Wardes partnered them up and circled around as he corrected forms and stances, occasionally subbing himself in to show off a particular chain of strikes before moving on to the next pair. All of this was done with a genial air and an easy, paternal manner.

"Young Master Gramont?" He turned to greet the Undine Knight's… well, he wasn't quite sure what position Miss Longueville occupied. After the newly appointed _temporary_ Headmaster, for there was no way he'd keep his position when Old Osmond finally returned with the Staff of Destruction, had taken over she'd been rather rudely dismissed from her position. The Viscount had hired her to manage the various affairs of the order and she'd done so rather magnificently.

"Yes, Miss Longueville?" She was waving to him from the edge of the courtyard, unwilling to enter the battlefield. With good reason, at that. Some of the trainees were rather enthusiastic, and even at her age she only barely qualified as a Line Air Mage. Before heading over he did her the courtesy of dumping a bucket of water over himself to help with the rather _firm_ aroma. Upon arrival she gave him a letter and a letter opener to go with it.

He split it open and skimmed the contents, vaguely aware of the Viscount walking up behind him and the lady walking off to deliver more mail. It was another missive from his father, bringing news of the military muster. Very little of it was good.

"Letters from home, Guiche?" At first he didn't respond, finishing scanning the last few lines before addressing the older man. When he finally did it was with a somber voice and a resigned expression.

"Indeed. Father is… concerned with the quality of our forces. We haven't properly mustered our forces in some time due to the extended peace with Germania. Albion has a strong airship fleet as well, and he fears many of their crews may now fly the crimson banner." Wardes nodded, concern writ large across his face. With good reason… he likely felt that the potential crisis they faced was largely his fault.

"I suppose we'll just have to try and make up the difference, hm? A well-trained mage is equal to a hundred soldiers on a battlefield, and we have the most mages." He patted Guiche on the shoulder and smiled down at him, placing his hat back on his head. "Speaking of, I've got a job for you. Well, more of a test. Pick, say, two or three people for a mission. City fighting conditions, friendly territory. And yes, this part is a test as well."

He nodded and headed off immediately as Wardes walked over to take a sheaf of letters from Longueville and began to talk to her. Two or three people… and in the city, as well? He'd be judged on his choices, as well. The first step would probably be to get some advice.

Well, Kenneth was back up at the Academy. A quick ride wouldn't hurt. He had to dry off and change, of course… and, to his regret, collect Derflinger from the bottom of his chest. The shield was currently sulking due to a minor… falling out they'd had. He was very grateful, of course, for the gift that the dwarf had given him but at the same time...

It was so crass! The comments it made were just as bad as the familiar himself. No wonder they'd gotten along so well. He'd tried to give it a firm talking to after it had upset his dear Montmorency but that had just lead to him having a shouting match with a shield. Very embarrassing.

Even so, it wouldn't do to be without. So he loaded up his shield and belted on his sword then commandeered a horse for the ride to the Academy. About halfway there he finally broke down and, with a deep sigh, addressed Derf.

"You do realize you're being childish, don't you?" Silence from hanging armament. According to Kenneth the spirit or what-have-you was several thousand years old, so how was it so immature? "I'm not apologizing for what I said. You upset my beloved with your comments." Further silence from the tool. By the Founder… who would have ever made a weapon with this sort of personality? "Will you stop sulking if I ask Kirche to wax you?"

"Why, partner, I thought you'd never ask!" Guiche resisted the urge to strike at the shield, or his own face, and instead just spurred the horse on as Derf began his litany of fantasizing about the future of polishing he was looking forward to. As frustrating as it was, he did want to keep the shield happy… if only because he wasn't sure if it would still use its powers if it was mad at him.

Eventually he managed to steer the conversation to a less irritating topic and, for the remainder of the ride, benefitted from Derf regaling him with tales of heroism by his previous owners. That, at least, was a far more pleasant interaction with the perverted shield. Especially as, even if the names were a bit _off_ , he could recognize a few of the tales as some of his literary heroes.

Thus the journey turned out to be mostly pleasant, on the whole. It was still mid-morning when he reached the Academy again, with most of the students still in classes. The lack of need to attend regular lessons was part of the reason why so many had originally applied to the Undine Knights. Guiche had to imagine they regretted leaving when faced with the week's worth of catch-up work on their return. Then again, perhaps that was less onerous than their exercises.

One benefit of this visit was that he could stop in and see his beloved Montmorency, however! Ah… it was a grave burden to be away from his darling for so long. Going without so much as a glimpse of her beauty for days on end was truly torturous. However, she'd decided that her talents would be more effectively applied completing her training in Water magic so she could serve as a proper healer. Such a selfless paragon of Nobility! He'd make sure to stop by after getting advice from his familiar.

When he found the dwarf, who had moved outside of the walls now and to the far side of the main gate, Professor Colbert was with him; huddled behind a pile of what looked like bags of wheat, albeit incredibly full, laid upon a berm of earth. Further away, in a shallow pit, there stood Kenneth beside a large metal contraption of some sort. He appeared to be stoking a fire. As Guiche approached he turned and leapt out of the pit. He sprinted towards the cover where Colbert was waiting and took a flying leap over it.

"Professor? Do you not have classes today?" The teacher turned, saw Guiche and reacted quickly. His staff came up and a blast of wind struck the young man in the chest, knocking him on to his back. There was a high pitched whistling and then everything was suddenly warm and wet. When the ringing in his ears finally subsided he sat up to see the Professor and Kenneth standing at the edge of the pit and surveying the twisted wreckage of the device.

"Guess we didnae leave enough tolerance on th' safety valve, eh? Y'can see where it burst along here. Yer welds were plenty good enough, though." Guiche slowly walked up behind them, staring at the carnage before him. Bits of metal were embedded into the walls and ground. That explained why their testing zone was here.

"Excellent! So we won't need your, ah, runic mechanisms for the final design, then? Native smelting techniques will suffice?" Kenneth nodded, hopping down and twisting some of the metal out of the way so he could look more closely at the distorted mass of ruined steel.

"Aye, she'll need a Fire Mage of yer calibre for a while yet, until we work the kinks out o' tha' pig iron converter. Gotta figure out a proper casting fer th' boiler, ah reckon, an' try a few more designs fer th' valve." He turned to the Professor, the two of them grinning at each other like a pair of children presented with a big bowl of candy. "Ah'll call ye when ah've got th' next one done."

"Wonderful! Oh, darn, I'm late for my class again. I'll revise my designs later tonight and bring them to you as soon as they're done! Nice seeing you again, young Gramont." Then, having only barely acknowledged Guiche, he cast a flight spell upon himself and soared up and over the walls. The young man shook his head and waved at his familiar.

"Hey-o! Didja see that, me boy? Give us a few more weeks an' we'll bloody well have trains, we will!" Kenneth looked so pleased with himself that Guiche didn't have the heart to explain he didn't know what a 'train' was.

"Ah, very good. I came by to get your advice about a training mission that the Grandmaster wants to send me on. He told me to pick a team with city fighting conditions in mind?" The dwarf curled one of the steel beams back the way it was before and hauled himself back out of the pit, stroking his beard pensively. His beards clacked with the sounds Guiche had come to associate with deep thought.

"See if Louise'll lend ya Saito; stealth is his thing in every environment. Maybe th' blue haired girl? She's fit, an' tough, an' her magic ain't quite so destructive as some. Otherwise, just use yer best judgement. Even if y'get it wrong, tha's a way t'learn too, aye?" Guiche nodded. That had been about what he was thinking. Kenneth gave him a sly grin and elbowed him in the side. "Aye, ah get it. Ye didnae come here just t'get my advice, eh? Go see yer lass, ah'm sure she'll be pleased to see ye."

He thanked his familiar, and went off once again. In truth, he had wanted to have his reasoning confirmed by Kenneth, yes, but he also felt like he and Monmon had grown a little distant as of late. She seemed ill at ease amongst their group, particularly around Kirche and Tabitha, which made him wonder if his past behaviour still weighed heavily upon her mind.

Speaking of which! It seemed he'd arrived with good timing, as the morning class was just getting out and he knew her schedule meant she had no more classes today until after lunch. He took a detour through one of the gardens to cut a rather lovely rose, if he did say so himself, and as came out of the front gate he appeared before her to present it.

Much to his surprise she jumped a little and looked away for a moment before recovering her composure. Then she was her usual, charming self; shining and gushing over the flower and taking his arm with a winsome smile… ah, how lovely. Unfortunately, he couldn't get that earlier reaction out of his mind.

It bugged him all through their impromptu morning lunch, with cakes provided to him with the compliments of the Head Chef and a pleased pat on the head for how politely he asked, Finally he broke down and leaned over the table to take Montmorency's hand.

"My dearest Monmon… I find myself deeply torn. I fear you have been concealing something from me. Know that I respect your right to privacy, my love, but I pray that you might be willing to share your troubles with me." He fixed her with his most wonderfully sincere gaze and, before long, the blonde beauty broke.

"Ah… w-well, Guiche, I… I fear I did something a little bit… foolish." Before she could continue he reached out and clasped her hand between _both_ of his hands, letting his genuine concern shine forth to soothe her woes.

"Nay, my love, do not say such things! We are all mortal, it is true, and to err is only human; but there is nothing you could do to lower your position in my heart." Montmorency turned a little red, took a look around, gathered her courage and, finally, let loose the concerns in her heart.

"I… I tried to dose you with a love potion a few weeks ago." Guiche clutched at his breast, first and foremost, recoiling in horror. Then he slid out of his chair and took a knee beside the table, looking up at Montmorency with wide, adoring eyes.

"Dear heart, my feelings tremble at the enormity of your pain. Such is the depth of the suffering I have caused you that you felt the need to make take such extreme measures to guarantee my affections! Fear not, my darling rose, for the fire of my love for you has only been stoked by this terrible revelation!" Montmorency swooned with a faint, ladylike blush and smiled up at him as he laid a gentle kiss upon her delicate hand.

"Well… y-yes, that is to say… I forgive you, Guiche de Gramont. However, there is another concern. I… may have been somewhat incautious with my efforts, and as a result someone else imbibed the potion that was meant for you." Ah. That was a more difficult situation. Guiche considered the situation and then nodded.

"Very well. Then our course of action is clear. We must acquire a cure post-haste and rectify the situation, then throw ourselves upon the mercy of the afflicted party. Might I ask whom received the unfortunate concoction?" Montmorency turned sheepish, which said quite a lot. It was obviously someone they both knew quite well.

"Ah… well, you see… I'm afraid it was several weeks ago now… a-and the potion I used was meant to be a more _subtle_ effect, of course. A sort of slower burn? The book said it, um, helped the imbiber realize their deeply held feelings only I think it just said that to make you feel better about brewing it…" Well, love potions were banned for a reason.

While he could forgive his love due to her pure motives that didn't mean he wouldn't arrange for his familiar to have a few words with her about it. For her own good. "Anyway, we were in the library, and I had those little cakes, remember? And before I could give you the one I made for you… Kirche ate it." Oh. Yes, that had been the first time she'd crashed his studying with… Vallière…

"Oh dear." Guiche frowned as he straightened up, considering the events of the past few weeks in a new light. "This could be a bit of a problem."


	17. Bronze and Justification

This chapter was accidentally omitted originally, and may clear up some confusion. It occurs between "Bronze and Wanting" and "Bronze and Ill Fortune" and will be moved there if it hasn't been already.

* * *

The biggest part of the issue was that love potions were seriously illegal… within certain degrees. Not only were the final products theoretically against the law to so much as possess, but the main ingredients for the more dangerous varieties were tightly controlled. Banning them wouldn't help as, according to Montmorency, there were almost no potion ingredients that were used in just one potion.

She'd selected one that used as many mundane ingredients as possible. Even then, there was still one controlled substance she'd had to use. Fortunately, she hadn't gone for the most powerful recipe she'd had access to; there had been a small warning in her inherited brewing journal that said it could, at times, cause the 'love' of dosed subject to overwhelm even their most basic honour and nobility.

That meant that they didn't need to seek out an apparently temperamental Water Spirit and beg it for a tear in order to undo the grave injustice that had been wrought. Rather, all they needed now was some more of the specific catalyst that she'd used. The antidote was easy to administer and as soon as Kirche had been cured they would inform her as to what happened; doing so beforehand would make fixing what had happened far more difficult.

All he had to do was get the substance in question. Which was going to prove difficult, considering the, ah, 'supplier' she'd got it from had not responded to any further missives she'd sent him. Well, that was his burden to bear. She'd sent him on his way with a fresh bottle of perfume, and her assurance it was not doctored. He'd regretted asking, with her expression, but also felt it got across the damage she had done to his trust… for, as much as he understood her reasonings, it still hurt.

Guiche rode back to the chapter house alone, to face the Grandmaster and share his choices for the mission. He'd made the final choice relatively easily, once Kenneth had shared a few words of wisdom that had, honestly, only really confirmed what he'd already intended to do.

By the time he got back it was late afternoon. As he walked through the courtyard he paid attention to the various initiates in the middle of their sword drills. Here and there he paused to give a few words of advice. Keep this foot back a bit. Don't lean in so far. Little things. Those who'd heard of his duel with Mott, which was pretty much everyone, still regarded him with more than a little awe.

Wardes was instructing across at the far end. His lessons were doled out via the tip of his sword-wand, with a sharp tap here or there to push a wayward limb back into position. Nevertheless, he matched it with calm words and didn't actually _strike_ unless someone had made an error so grievous as to be dangerous. That did happen from time to time.

The Grandmaster tipped his head as Guiche approached, acknowledging his contributions and approving of them as well. Saito was nowhere to be seen but if he were around he'd likely be helping as well. Some of the young Nobles had resented the 'peasant' attempting to assist in their training until they'd seen him and Guiche have a little practice spar. After Guiche had his ass handed back to him several times over they'd instead started plotting to get him pitted up against the Viscount to see what happened.

Funnily enough, Guiche had asked Saito, and Wardes, how that would work out. They'd had essentially identical answers; without magic, the servant could fight at least evenly with the Nobleman. But as soon as magic entered the picture, he lost. Given Guiche himself felt that Saito remained an unassailable obstacle even if he pulled out his Valkyries it was an interesting thing to hear.

"Grandmaster! A word, sir?" He called out as he stepped closer and Wardes disengaged from teaching with a last few words of advice for the pair of third-years trading off parries and thrusts. As their paths converged he took the lead and they both moved toward his office. Once inside he unshouldered his coat, hanging it from a hook as he circled around his desk, and sat down.

"So, young Gramont, I assume you've chosen your team? I look forward to hearing you justify your choices." Guiche nodded. Yes, that was to be expected; the actual content of the choices didn't matter at all. Far more important was _why_ he chose them. Best to lead strong.

"Very well. Firstly, Saito of Vallière. He has superb stealth capabilities, good close combat skill and able to blend well with commoners. In an urban setting he will be invaluable for gathering information and tracking targets." Wardes made notes as he spoke and Guiche had to fight the urge to try and read it from the angle he stood at.

"Secondly, Tabitha. Her magic is very safe in a city, and she's a precise and fast caster. She is also highly observant and possesses unparalleled mobility in the form of her draconic familiar." More notes. Was he nodding with approval there, or was that just his imagination?

"Thirdly, Malicorne de Grandpré." This time, Wardes' quill stopped. He looked up, giving Guiche his _full_ attention. As if saying that he best be able to justify such an unorthodox choice. The young man swallowed hard, and continued. "His familiar is a Strix; it's an utterly silent flier that also has superb night-vision and an incredible sense of smell. I'm told it can smell blood beneath the skin at fifty paces, sir."

Wardes made a noncommittal sound, as if to ask why he'd pick the person when he just wanted his familiar. Guiche wet his lips, and forged ahead. "In addition, Malicorne has mastered the familiar sight spell. He can guide his partner at range, and can even cast 'Far Sight' through the eyes of his pet. It's a rather unique talent, Grandmaster, and one I intend to exploit for this mission."

Fingers rapped on the desk as the older man seemed to consider this logic for a time. Then he made a few more notes on his parchment and blew on it a few times to finish drying it. Finally, he opened his cabinet and pulled out the large envelope with Guiche's name on it and slid the paper in.

"Almost full marks, Gramont. Be a little more confident in your choices, next time. You can have those three, and any others you might be able to justify to me once I explain the full mission." Another letter on his desk was pulled forth and opened up. Wardes began the explanation.

* * *

Bennet liked to think that he wasn't a bad person. This was a trait rather common to extremely bad people but, fortunately for him, he wasn't particularly given to that sort of introspection either. What he was given to, generally speaking, was breaking the legs of people who owed money to his boss.

He was a fair bit brighter than he seemed. For example, he frequently considered the inanity of the leg-breaking. Doing it didn't generally make the person pay his boss back any faster. In fact, if he was to consider his past experiences he'd actually say it often made them even slower on the next repayment. But he wasn't paid to think. No, Bennet was paid to break legs. So he broke the legs.

On that evening, he'd just returned from an afternoon of leg-breaking, with a small side-stop at a back-alley brothel for some personal business with one of the cheaper, yet less cross-eyed, girls, when he realized something was amiss. The warehouse's side door was open and that wasn't normal. He unlimbered his stout wooden club with the metal studs and gently pushed on it.

There was no sound as it swung open; the boy kept it well-oiled. Equally, there were no sounds from inside the warehouse either. Bennet crouched and slipped off his heavy work boots so he could pad silently into the building. Nobody was loading or unloading at this time of night but there were guards, certainly. Come to think of it, the dogs in the yard ought to have barked. They were practically wild, but they hadn't made so much as a whimper.

He crept up the stairs towards the main office. That door was ajar as well. His nostrils flared slightly as he picked up the scent of fresh blood. A rival gang? He lightly pressed on the door with his free hand, club hefted for a quick strike. Nothing leapt out at him. He poked his head in, no less tightly strung and his heart stopped.

There was… not the boss, but someone just under them. He didn't know the guy's name. He was pinned to the chair with an expression of… not pain, but surprise, across his face. There was a long spear of what looked like ice through his chest and going out through the wood behind him. Founder… it was _him_.

No hesitation. He yanked open the drawers of the desk one after another, frantically scrabbling through them and seizing the first purse of coins he found. Not much of a retirement plan but it would do. He took the stairs three at a time and, just as he reached the door, froze. There was nobody else here, right? So where…

His eyes flicked to the door. It was unblemished. Clean, even. Cleaner than it had ever been. Almost like someone had scrubbed it down. He saw, clearly in his head, an image of a man running for the door just like him. It swinging open. Then, outlined in the darkness for just a moment, the perfect target.

Sod that. He turned around and moved through the crates towards the back corner of the warehouse. Shifted one aside and found the trap door beneath. The tunnel ran straight into the city's main sewer line. He could come out a few blocks away. Cool air shifted out as he opened it up and paused. Then he went over to the wall, lifted one of the lanterns off its hook, went back to the hole and dropped down; it was only a short drop, and there was no ladder. Didn't want no curious muckraker finding it.

No point closing it behind him. More important to just put as much distance between this whole business and them. He made tracks just as quick as he could and it wasn't until he was perhaps halfway down the tunnel that he finally realized he wasn't the only one that had. The mud, and it was best to think of it as mud, was cold and gross between his toes. A trail quickly went away when a fresh flush of water came through the system.

Bennet slowed to a halt, staring at the ground. Stretching out ahead of him was what he'd seen but not truly _thought_ about until just that moment. Dozens of sets of tracks just as sloppy as his. The lantern dropped from his hand as he felt a sharp prickling on the back of his neck. Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned around.

The glass had cracked, and ooze was seeping into the lantern. In what flickering light remained he could see the figure standing not far ahead of him. For as much as his mind rebelled against the details he still took things in. All he could make out of the clothes was a blood-coloured cloak, and all there was to see of the face were the glowing, shining, bright golden eyes.

Other things caught his attention. Like the circle of dry earth that it stood upon. The fog pouring from under the cloak as, before his eyes, it shifted back to reveal a slowly growing icy spear. Bennet's mouth opened for a moment as he clutched at his club. The monster didn't move. His eyes were watering. He couldn't help himself.

Bennet blinked.

There was a sudden deep confusion in him. He'd dropped his lantern and turned around… but there was nothing there. His muscles were all tense, and he could remember… he'd been facing something. There'd been… danger?

His confusion quickly ended when two feet of frozen water emerged from his chest, having passed right through his heart.

* * *

"When the City Watch found the body in the warehouse they followed the passageway and found the decomposing corpse with a hole through its chest. Some twenty metres down the passage were another dozen men; each one had been killed with a single, precise strike to the head or chest." Wardes summed up the latest murder in the Capitol with a detached, almost clinical air. It had been a long explanation; this had been going on for some time.

"Every single one of them was fit, and armed. Every single weapon was clean of blood. The Watch say they have reason to believe some, if not _all_ of the killings were performed with magic. You'll be helping with the investigation." Guiche couldn't help but start at that. Really? They were only trainees, and this sounded like a… a skilled and ruthless killer!

"I can see your trepidation, Guiche, and I understand it. However, you've chosen well. I don't expect you to apprehend the suspect. You are, however, a team of relative unknowns who may be able to find a lead _quietly_. If you can identify or track the culprit you can leave the rest up to the Griffon Knights at the Castle." The young man took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

"As you say, Viscount. Very well. I shall inform my choices as to their assignment, and we will set out upon the morrow." Wardes nodded but, as Guiche stood to leave, added an extra remark that gave him some pause.

"No need to rush, Guiche. Of course, we must resolve the incident as soon as possible but… these aren't especially righteous folks who are passing. I don't condone this kind of 'justice', obviously, but I see no reason to mourn these dead." Guice bit his lower lip and nodded faintly before slipping out.

He felt much like he had when confronting Mott. Not quite the same, the depth of feeling was certainly not there, but even so. 'Emotionally adrift' would be the poetic way to put it. Although he could _understand_ Wardes' thoughts on the matter and knew many, such as his familiar, who would likely agree… well, from the descriptions not every victim had died so painlessly.

One man had been found dead with his entire forearm flayed down to the bone. Another had been… _unmanned_ in a purportedly gruesome fashion. Surely nobody, not even a common criminal, deserved to die like that? That was the sensation he felt, now. His own sense of justice wasn't matching up with the situation.

However… it hadn't been an order. So he could tackle this as he liked. With Saito on hand, with Tabitha's professionalism and Malicorne's utility… he could certainly find the culprit quickly. Fast enough to prevent any more victims. Yes, that would do it. Guiche _would_ resolve the case, but he would do so according to his 'justice'. His, and his alone. That was heroism.

* * *

When he first saw the odd woman looking at his paintings Francisque de Gramont had considered just how he might capture her on his canvas. Her clothing was just _bizarre_ ; she wore a dark blue shawl with matching scarf curled around her head and a lighter blue dress underneath it. There were a lot of bangles hanging from her forearms, made easily visible by the loose-styled sleeves.

Curiously, however, she wore a tighter, long-sleeved garment of white cotton beneath the dress. It was an outfit eminently suitable for the chill, as was the woman herself. He found himself looking at his palette and frowning at the white colour that was far more dun than he'd have liked. Proper white paint was very expensive. He desperately wanted some now.

His brush drooped as she walked towards him with a winsome smile on her face. Such curious features… impossibly pale skin to match with eyes so blue he thought for a moment she might be blind. A single lock of pale blonde hair creeped out from under her scarf and curled along the sharp angle of her jaw. Be still his heart.

"Pardon me, my lady…" He stood, moving into her path before she could keep going to see the other painters in the wide square. There were five of them at this festival, one of the largest in the region and frequented by the local Germanian Nobility as much as the commonfolk. He'd only come on the invitation of his elder brother. By the Founder, he'd have to thank the man.

"A lady, perhaps I am. But not quite yours _yet_ , young man." He chuckled at her little joke as she smiled with a warmth that belied the harsh tone of her rebuke. Perhaps it really was the curse of the Gramont family to find women so willing to speak their minds… but he didn't mind.

"Of course, dear lady, of course; but, at the very least, I wish to immortalise you upon my canvas. Yours is a beauty one seldom sees, let alone has such a perfect opportunity to paint." She pursed her lips, but didn't seem dissatisfied with his compliment. The expression accentuated her most striking feature; the dark marking on her face, underneath her right eye.

It started with a line that followed the curve of her eye just slightly; then more curls coming from beneath to surge across her cheek and around towards her neck. He knew _of_ tattoos, in the vaguest sense, but he'd never seen one that so enhanced the appearance of its own, let alone one on so fine a woman.

"Your work is good. Very well. I shall allow you to paint me; we shall call it an audition, as I am here in search of an artist of quality for a rather prestigious work." His smile lit up his face as she agreed and he immediately guided her to the perfect position on the seat laid out for his work. The other painter nearest him gave him a foul look as he did so; likely due to what he'd just overheard.

Francisque didn't care. He lost himself in the work. Without a brighter white he instead dulled the entire image. Her painted face was caught in a complex interplay of light that shrouded the unmarked half that he thought made the product look rather striking. All the tones were slightly darker than reality except for the eyes. Even with half her face beshadowed both eyes were kept fully visible in a rather daring stylistic choice. The darkness of the rest of the piece accentuated the pale blue of her cold stare.

It was, in his opinion, one of his finest works. The small crowd of other nobles that had gathered to silently watch him work certainly seemed to imply they felt similarly to him. Finally, he leaned back and declared the work complete. She stood, walked around to look at it, nodded, and then left without another word.

It was rather crushing. He ended up retiring for the day as soon as the paint was dry, packing up his unsold pieces and starting the slow trudge toward the inn he was staying in for the remaining few days of the festival. As he rounded a corner a familiar, icy voice broke pierced the background noise of the town-wide party.

"You're very good." He turned to see _her_ , just standing nonchalantly around the corner. Had she been waiting for him? She stepped forward with comfortable ease and hooked his arm through his to join him for the rest of the walk. "My dear master sent me to this quaint little festival to find some talented young painter to do his portrait, you see." Oh. With her bearing, he'd just assumed she was… well, Noble.

"I'd be happy to take your one of myself, of course, even if you don't accept. However, trust me when I say that the contract would be _very_ lucrative; although, it is in Gallia." Francisque frowned. For a single painting, that was quite a way to go. She seemed to read his mind for how quickly she answered his exact concern. "Travel will be arranged, both there and to your home; I detect by your accent you are not Germanian?" He nodded.

"Indeed, I hail from Tristain originally. My brother lives here, and he invited me up for the festival." After a moment's further thought he held his hand out to her. "Francisque de Gramont. At your service." She took the hand and allowed him to kiss hers.

"Charmed. Will you take the job then, Francisque?" The way she said his name was just about enough to make him forget that she hadn't offered hers. However… sight unseen, this was an odd proposition.

"Perhaps… I think I should, at the very least, like to know whom I would be painting first?" The exotic woman smiled her mysterious, deep smile once more and pulled a little closer so that she might whisper in his ear. When he heard the name his eyes widened. "Yes! I mean… of course. Absolutely. Ah, well, assuming you have proof, that is?"

"I have the letter of appointment he gave me, to show to whomever I chose. My things are at the cottage I've rented for the duration. Shall we?" A slight pressure on his arm redirected him away from the honestly rather low-quality in he'd been moving toward and aimed him toward a far nicer part of town. Francisque wasn't about to object to any of these developments.

After all, when one received a personal request for service, even by proxy, from a King it generally did one a world of good to accept.


	18. Bronze and Ill Fortune

The three Nobles in the party set out mid-morning the next day. Under advisement from Saito, Guiche had agreed to send the familiar ahead at first light to prepare lodgings and also acquire some less conspicuous clothing. He would meet them again a short ways out of the city and they could walk the remainder of the distance.

Malicorne didn't seem too enthused by the plan but it was overshadowed by his clear glee to be taking part in a prestigious undertaking such as this. Guiche certainly felt sympathy for the young mage he ruefully recalled referring to on a number of previous occasions as 'Malicorne the Blow-hard'. The very studiousness for which he'd derided his now-companion was the very reason he had such value to their mission.

Tabitha had been characteristically silent during his request of her assistance but had agreed to join with little more than an incline of her head. She was rarely very active during training but showed quick and accurate casting of Ice spells that gave him confidence in his choice. Also, in spite of her surprisingly striking features, she had a bizarre talent to fade into the background. Almost uncanny, really.

They stopped the carriage in a small copse just out of sight of town and, as expected, Saito shortly appeared out of the treeline with several travelling packs full of rough, peasant garments. He also helped Guiche conceal his travelling cloak using a hidden pocket he'd sewn along the back. It was definitely not comfortable, or quick to reach, but a commoner wouldn't have a weapon like that.

Malicorne and Tabitha were both shown how to conceal the wands they brought with them, a main and a spare at Wardes' suggestion, and then Saito attached a bell to the latter's stave as well that made it suddenly take on a far more mundane life as a shepherd's crook. Derflinger proved far more troublesome and was eventually secreted in Guiche's bag only under great protest and promises of the finest waxing that money could purchase.

For as much as Guiche sincerely appreciated the shield, and having an anti-magic bulwark like that was truly a thing to be thankful for, his personality was somewhat grating. By the Founder, was that what it had been like dealing with him before he met Kenneth? Perhaps he owed Montmorency a few more expensive bouquets. Perhaps some of those imported sweets from Rub' Al-Khali that she liked.

Rubbing dirt on their faces felt like it was a bit much to Guiche, even if Saito did insist that it was very important that they not look quite so clean as they did. Still, by lunchtime they were strolling in through the gates of the Capitol with nary a second glance levelled at them by the guards. The familiar had even discarded his obviously much-beloved cloak in favour of something in a rather dull brown. Once they reached their lodgings he quickly changed back to the red garment, of course, muttering something about strange foreign fashions. It was a rare moment of actual humanity from the perfect servant.

"Now, we've been asked to investigate quietly. Malicorne, you will remain in our rooms and send your familiar with us. If something goes horribly wrong you must send for the Griffon Knights _immediately_. I have no illusions as to our ability to handle this ne'er-do-well." Malicorne nodded, looking a bit green at the thought of violence, and took a comfortable position on one of the beds of their shared room to begin guiding his Strix into the city from range.

They'd taken two rooms with two beds, with Tabitha masquerading as just another young man. She'd voiced no objection to that idea regardless of how nervous Guiche had felt raising it. He still hadn't quite worked out the sleeping arrangements but suspected she'd likely end up sharing with Saito. The slightly strange young fellow didn't seem to really notice that gender was even a thing, at times; or, at least, Guiche had never caught him looking.

"Then Saito and Tabi-... ah, _Sebas_ and _Timthy_ shall accompany myself, _Geoff_ , as we go check up on a lead." Pseudonyms had also taken a bit of work but, in the end, he'd chosen 'common' names with a bit of help from Saito. Apparently it was fairly reasonable for a peasant to have a name with grand origins that was simply pronounced oddly due to generations of illiteracy distorting it. He wasn't entirely sure if the familiar wasn't having him on a little, but the logic had seemed sound enough.

The lead in this case was a source he didn't want to disclose. Namely, the black market dealer from whom Montmorency had acquired her, ahem, ingredients. Guiche figured it was a good way to kill two birds with one stone. They extracted his sword from the hidden pocket and bundled it up in cloth, figuring that would work now they were inside the city itself, and Saito took the bell off Tabitha's staff. It was ill-conducive to a stealth mission for obvious reasons.

Once the black, four-legged owl-creature that served as Malicorne's familiar had arrived they set out with it following from above. Guiche was very impressed with their fourth member's handling of the beast. Giving commands through the familiar bond was a tricky art that not every mage could even manage, let alone so quickly as he had. There were bound to be missteps, of course, but in the interim it worked handily for them.

Guiche's faith in his choice was quickly justified when the owl landed in front of them quite suddenly and began scratching in the dirt. It seemed to take a few false starts to get the creature to perform one of the signals they'd worked out beforehand, as it wasn't something the duo had time to train, but it didn't take long to get the idea across. The Strix could smell blood. Fresh blood.

Their destination was a small, back-alley apothecary that, by all evidence, only seemed to be selling the mildest of ingredients. Nobody was behind the counter. Guiche unlimbered his sword as they poked around, feeling increasingly ill at ease even before Saito located the hidden doorway behind one of the curtains. Not very well hidden, but enough to confound a cursory inspection.

Before Guiche could take the path, however, Saito stopped him and smeared something across the countertop using a convenient dried root and a small clay pot of something black and sticky. It was the suggestion that he go scout ahead, and Tabitha circled around to the far side. While he was loath to split them up it did make some degree of sense… however, his only modification to the plan was that Saito would scout, yes, but Guiche and Tabitha would remain together.

Since this seemed to sit well enough with Saito, possibly as they didn't know if there was an alternative route at all, he carefully opened the door just enough to squeeze through and then vanished. Guiche counted to a hundred in his head and then followed after, sword at the ready. After much deliberation and agonizing he'd spent the fifty to a hundred count smearing the awful black gunk over his previously shining blade, silently apologizing to his mother's memory the entire time.

He'd felt glad for the caution shortly after they entered, however. There was what seemed to be what was very likely a highly illegal bar concealed behind the building. This was a more run-down part of the Capitol, it was true, where very many of the murders had actually taken place but, even so, he was startled to see something like this. Mostly as he hadn't thought these things were… well, real.

The sensation of having fallen into a novel was somewhat dampened by all the corpses. It was almost a work of art, in a horrific sense. Saito was nowhere to be seen and so Guiche was left to marvel at the thoroughness of the massacre as Tabitha poked a few of the bodies with her stave. She didn't bother checking for pulses. There was quite clearly no point.

In his opinion the most striking part of the grisly tableau, apart from the fact that he still had yet to throw up, was how clearly you could see what had happened. Someone had walked into the room through the very door they'd entered and simply began to methodically slaughter everyone.

Those seated at tables nearest the door had stood no chance at all; many were still seated even now, with foot long blades of ice penetrating their heads or chests. The most grievously wounded, bodies torn open elbow to hip or lengthwise up their body or widthwise across the stomach with surprisingly clean strokes that had, in some cases, torn into the surrounding furniture, were those found in the middle distance. They'd had enough time to hear the noises, or perhaps even see the first deaths, and had begun to rise to their feet.

The sheer level of violence arrayed against the corpses in the second third of the room stood in stark contrast to the third. While the room itself was in more of a shambles, with tables upturned and chairs knocked over, the deaths were clean again. Many slit throats, a few short spikes of ice through eyes or foreheads where someone had obviously tried to peek out at the carnage. It was as bizarre as it was utterly horrible.

He could feel the bile finally rising as the shock of so much death in one place wore off. Guiche couldn't help but retch, doubling over and vomiting on to the already soiled floor. It was an especially unpleasant sensation when the thick, cloying scent of dried blood mixed with the acrid tang of bile.

Finally, feeling quite unwell, he straightened up; just in time to see Saito of Vallière go flying through the upstairs railing.

* * *

Tabitha of Gallia, also known as Charlotte Hélène d'Orléans, had been scanning the rest of the room as Guiche took a moment to loose his breakfast all over the floor. As such, she was privy to the extended version of what he caught as he finally finished evacuating his stomach. There were stairs on the far side of the larger room leading up to a small balcony above with a number of doors on them; typical bar slash inn design in spite of the obviously shady patrons this place catered to.

Saito of Vallière came flying backwards through the wall between two of these doors, smashed through the balcony's railing, went through three-quarters of a rotation on the way down and then landed knees-first on a table that immediately collapsed; thus depositing him face-first amongst the rubble. Her staff was already pointing at the hole before he hit the ground and her tongue completing the first self-enhancement spell. The very instant that she saw the splinter-covered figure stir, confirming he was still alive, she pushed off and floated gracefully up and over the railing to land beside the broken hole.

When she rounded the corner she'd already cast Wind Enhancement on herself to compliment the initial Levitation and fired a spray of ice shards into the room somewhat indiscriminately. Unfortunately, she didn't hit anything; one of the far windows had been torn right out of its frame with some force and, now that she looked, was actually lying on the roof… of the building on the opposite street. No sign of the assailant.

Guiche landed on the balcony behind her and she glanced at him for a moment. He appeared to have recovered with the adrenaline of the moment. Unlike her, he looked quite upset with this development. Tabitha wasn't particularly bothered by it. All indications seemed to imply that Saito had survived worse than a little blunt force trauma.

"His leg appears broken. We must give chase as best we can." She nodded, and lead the charge across the street and on to the far roof. Between the two of them they scanned the area, looking for anything suspicious. Yet there was nothing. Nobody fleeing at a great speed, conveniently leaping from rooftop to rooftop as they attempted to escape the scene of the crime. No mysterious figure flying away while cackling loudly.

Well, if it had been her, she'd have just calmly dropped to the street below and strolled away. Which was worrying. That seemed to imply a certain skill that hadn't been implicit in the violent fanaticism thus far displayed by their killer. Especially as, aside from the bodies found after the warehouse massacre, this was their greatest body count yet. She couldn't imagine there were many criminals left in the city at this point.

Guiche cursed somewhat under his breath, shoulders tense. He was angry. She could feel it just as surely as she could feel the coldness that sat beneath Saito's skin. This outcome infuriated the young man so much that he could barely stand it. He practically vibrated with rage. Tabitha didn't see the point. Odds were good that they'd been bad men through and through; even if they weren't, they were still dead. Getting mad about it wouldn't help now. It never helped.

"Saito." She provided him a gentle reminder of his injured acquaintance that snapped him back to reality. With no sign of the assailant they'd best go check on their third. Guiche seemed to agree, calming down somewhat and floating back across the gap to the broken window they'd exited from in the first place. Nobody in the street below looked up. She'd always been amused by how nobody ever looked up; even people who could fly.

As she thought that, Tabitha made it a point to glance at the ceiling of the room as they entered it again. It was clear, though, as was the bar itself. Saito was already sitting up and biting down on a piece of wood as he held his leg. Ah, of course. Tabitha pulled at Guiche's arm lightly and brought him down to her fellow assassin, directing the poor, unsuspecting Noble to hold just below the break. He was thoroughly unprepared for the reality of someone setting their own bone.

She didn't blame him all that much; with the high of excitement wearing off his keen awareness of the situation must be returning. Although she was rather inured to pointless deaths at this point she was also aware that Guiche was significantly more empathetic than her. That combined with his belief in, or perhaps desire for, a truly just world would make today a bitter pill to swallow and a burning drive going forward.

Saito used her staff for the hobble back to the inn, and once they arrived Guiche said he would go inform the Watch of what had happened. Better him than her, she thought. He was still quite pale and all, so the walk and the talking might well do him some good. After he left she sat down with Saito and began to examine his leg. Not much she could do for the break right now. Her skill with healing mostly laid in battlefield patch jobs.

"How?" She poked him in the leg, right were it hurt, and gave the young murderer a look of great reproach. He rubbed the back of his head and sighed, leaning back against the wall and putting his leg up on a pillow. Malicorne was still in the other room; he'd also had a bit of a moment when his familiar had entered the site of the massacre and was still getting over it himself.

"Didn't look up. Sloppy. I've picked up bad habits in the Academy." Tabitha nodded, understanding his plight. It was far too easy to fall out of the usual routines after staying in such a safe, soft environment for so long. He'd paid the price for his lack of caution and wouldn't do it again. Unfortunately, that made him useless for the remainder of the mission. Maybe she should've made Guiche go first. Losing him wouldn't be quite so much of a blow… oh, and he apparently had some sort of toughness-enhancing spell he'd worked out that probably would have protected him anyway.

Even so, that wasn't much of an explanation. So she poked Saito again and he both winced and sighed in rapid succession. "They swung down from the rafters and kicked me in the leg. Pretty sure it fractured. Then they got a straight one to the chest." He poked himself this time, in the chest area, and winced each time. "That's three… four… five cracked ribs. My leg broke fully when I landed on the table." Tabitha's eyes widened with appreciation. Only two hits to incapacitate him?

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Bastard was strong. What's worse is that he's a thief as well." She raised an eyebrow at that particular assertion. Was it a joke of some sort? But no, Saito seemed legitimately offended. "Couldn't make much out about him, except that he was wearing a cloak kinda like mine." The assassin smoothed the folds of his own garment with a frown. "Well, I think mine is a nicer colour. Even so!"

Tabitha honestly and truly could not help herself. There was a very small, almost imperceptible, snicker. In fact, one might go so far as to refer to it as a giggle. Neither one of them outwardly acknowledged the moment in the slightest even as the tension in the room increased tenfold as both considered, for the slightest moment, killing the other in cold blood to forever keep quiet what had just transpired.

The moment passed. Tabitha spent the rest of the time until Guiche returned entertaining herself by poking Saito's broken ribs as she ascertained just how many were actually broken. It turned out that the final answer was one broken outright, three cracked, and one that, after much hard poking, was determined to probably be fractured. So his rough estimate was about on the money.

The number of times she had to poke him to be sure of the last one was totally unrelated to the Thing That Did Not Happen mere minutes earlier.

* * *

Explaining the deaths, as well as the circumstances of him being in the Capitol, was not a particularly pleasant experience for Guiche. The Watch Commander was a minor nobleman, likely given the post due to a stunningly average performance in the past, and seemed to think that made it okay to viciously condescend to Guiche during their brief discussion.

Really, the man had been an utter buffoon about the whole thing. He'd gone so far as to imply that those people were, somehow, only dead because of Guiche choosing to 'stick his nose in', as it were. That implication had been thoroughly rescinded with only a little prodding, but he stuck to his muskets with the claim that his men would have been able to catch the killer had whatever 'lead' brought them to that location been given to the Watch instead.

Considering the murderer had temporarily crippled Saito, someone who Guiche was reasonably certain could take the entirety of the City Watch on with one hand tied behind his back, that was a rather doubtful claim. Still, he was a scion of the House de Gramont and he refused to be bullied by some two-bit petty official when he was on official orders from the Grandmaster of the Undine Knights himself.

Pulling rank also didn't work out so well, but in the end the unpleasant little man had been forced to agree that Guiche had the right to act as he wished. The Watch would, as their Captain had put it, 'clean up the messes'. Honestly, how gauche. Being treated like an invalid, or a child, was especially galling in light of how helpless he felt already. A sensation that wasn't helped upon his return to the inn.

"Siesta informed me that her cousin works another inn in town; I shall transition there until such a time as my Master comes to collect me. It is for the best if I am not seen with you any further, especially as I am in no fit state to continue assisting you." Saito's pained expression hurt Guiche the most. He knew that the familiar was blaming himself for this turn of events, that he thought he had somehow failed in his duties.

"Do not fret, my friend." Guiche patted Saito gingerly on the shoulder. "Tabitha and I shall take this as a warning not to underestimate our foe. I swear I shan't rush into any confrontations with them. Please, just rest and recover; I'm sure you've well earned the time off in any case." The expression on the familiar's face told him that was probably the wrong thing to say. Not that he knew what the right thing would be.

At Saito's suggestion they sent a message to said inn, and within an hour a pleasant young lady came to assist him in hobbling away. Guiche could certainly see the family resemblance; there was a certain exotic cast to their features that was shared by Saito himself, to some degree. It was a shame to see the young man away but it wouldn't do them any good to simply have him sitting around with them as his leg healed.

Well, Guiche would still likely seek him out at this other inn for advice before the mission was over but he suspected the separation was more for reasons of Saito's pride than anything else. With a broken leg he'd be more or less invalid in a large number of ways and appearing weak in front of those he regarded as his superiors was a severe violation of his code as a servant. That sort of resolve was something rather admirable, Guiche felt.

Even so, he felt somewhat adrift. He really hadn't expected their very first stop to lead them straight to the killer. Out of all the eventualities that was the one he simply hadn't planned for. They'd been caught off guard, he was down a team member and even their injured party had been unable to positively identify the person beyond a dark red cloak. Considering the signature of Reconquista, that had issues all of its own.

Their progress had been immediate, and destructive. It had really left him wondering why Grandmaster Wardes had chosen to give this mission to him.

* * *

It was funny… but, out of all of the kids, Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes found himself genuinely hoping that he wouldn't have to kill Guiche. Most of the others he could take or leave; he didn't particularly care about them but nor did he think they posed any real threat. Out of the actually dangerous ones he was actually most _concerned_ about Louise's familiar. Guiche wasn't actually a threat, Charlotte wouldn't be a problem for obvious reasons, but he couldn't tell if this 'Saito' knew about the power of the Gandalfr runes or not.

That, however, was a legitimate _concern_ that stood in stark contrast to his feelings toward the young de Gramont. The lad was earnest and steadfast. Wardes felt reasonably confident that, with a bit more time, he might well be able to turn him to the cause. His familiar, as well. In fact, the latter might even help with the case of the former. There'd been a few drinking sessions with Kenneth already that had left him feeling the dwarf was definitely sympathetic to Wardes' own ideals.

So with him in tow, Guiche was almost a guaranteed convert. It was a heartening thought as, although he was quite certain that he _could_ kill the boy if he actually had to, he found himself rather dispassionate about the idea. Considering the stories he'd heard from Louise in her admittedly rather rare and, he suspected, rather obligatory letters Wardes had often suspected that the youngest son of the House de Gramont was the kind of Noble he'd ordinarily somewhat enjoy splitting from nose to navel.

Which is why he'd been so surprised at Mott's manor to see him acting in a way that actually felt… well, noble. He'd even given the boy his hat. Wardes wasn't quite sure why he'd done that. It had just felt rather appropriate to the scenario he'd seen unfold. There was no way that somebody willing to go to such lengths for a 'mere' servant would be _un_ sympathetic to his cause, after all.

Still, he was rather glad that Guiche had chosen Charlotte to go with him on this mission. For as much faith as the young man put in Louise's familiar Wardes still felt a lot better knowing someone actually competent was around to keep him out of trouble. Inasmuch as such a thing was possible with a brazen young hothead with visions of heroism dancing in his eyes.

Peace of mind was something that Wardes sorely needed, ever since word had come back that the soldiers searching for Agnes, or her frozen carcass, hadn't returned. He'd really be glad when they could just do away with the Reconquista entirely. They were barely passably competent at the best of times, and now they couldn't even track down one injured girl trapped on a floating island?

Some days being a triple agent was rather exhausting.


	19. Bronze and Bloodshed

After another fruitless day of searching the team regrouped once more at the run-down inn. Well, that was a little rude; it looked bad from the outside but was nicely clean and serviceable. That wasn't the point, though. Guiche held the door for Tabitha and they both went in to sit beside the waiting Malicorne. All of them looked equally glum; although it was hard to tell the difference with the young lady.

"I think we need to change our strategy." He held his hands together and glanced at the other two, then opened his satchel. They'd been trying to find a trace of the cloaked murderer for three days now with no further leads, nor clues. It was infuriating. Guiche frowned as he began taking the parchment out of the bag and laying them across the floor.

Brutal individual kills and barbaric mass murders alike. He'd asked the Watch Captain to have a copy made and offered to pay the scribing costs to make up for it; something like this was too valuable to trust to a printing press. Although, given the somewhat lower quality of the copies, he did suspect that someone along the chain had decided to pocket the money and do it themselves.

"There isn't any real pattern to it. Sometimes he's methodical and cruel; tailoring the method of demise to the person. The rest of the time he's indiscriminate." Malicorne spoke up as he reached for one of the pieces of paper. Guiche nodded; he'd noticed as much himself. The meaning of it, however, eluded him. However, it seemed that Tabitha was far less confused than either of them now she was presented with the full extent of the facts.

"Personal." The boys looked up at her and she met their gaze with her usual even calmness. "These…" She shifted the parchments into two rough piles with a few moments of effort. "Doesn't know what they did. Doesn't care. Just kills them, because they're there. But these…" The other pile was indicated then. "He knows." Guiche glanced over at Malicorne, who was looking somewhat uneasy, and then back to Tabitha.

"So he kills those based on their crimes, then. Which means he must be watching out for them, in between massacres?" Guiche looked to Malicorne as he pictured the scene the other boy had just voiced. A dark figure wandering the city's darker areas, keeping an eye out for transgressors. That… actually, that gave Guiche an idea. It was quite likely a terrible idea, but even so.

"... very well, then. I have a plan." Which was true. They'd need to put it into action immediately. He'd finally sent a message to Grandmaster Wardes informing him of what had happened just that morning. There was no doubt in his mind that they'd be ordered to return home. If he wanted to make a difference then his idea would have to work the first time, more or less.

As plans went, it probably wasn't one of Guiche's best. It was good in the sense that it enabled him to kill two birds with one stone; while these murderers were obviously the main concern he desperately needed to cure Kirche as well. Unfortunately, given how pressing the matter of the killer was he had just been unable to justify spending the time to track down the ingredients he needed… until now.

Guiche and Malicorne had gone the very next morning to see the Griffon Knights up at the palace in order to explain the plan and recruit them. The latter was currently sitting in the barracks they were billeted in. Tabitha had gone with them just to collect her familiar from the dragon stables. She'd sent the young dragon there before they'd arrived in the Capital. Right now those two were flying above the city, with a Vision Enhancement spell cast on Tabitha and some sort of Water-magic based illusion making them hard to see.

The Strix was trailing Guiche as he wandered the shady side-streets of the less than savoury part of town. In concept, the plan was simple. If Malicorne saw anything go wrong through the eyes of the Strix then he would immediately alert the Knights with him. The three on duty ought to be able to reach him within two minutes. With Tabitha ready to provide backup even faster than that they ought to be able to lure out the killer and keep track of him long enough for the experts to take him down.

Getting them to agree to the plan had been hard, however. Guiche had needed to strongly imply that the Viscount supported his idea. Which was… technically true, in a certain sense of the word. They'd already somewhat failed their mission, in a way, but he'd been told to hand over to the Griffon Knights once he had tracked down or identified the culprit; so that's what he was going to do.

He'd spent the morning asking around and had finally managed to find a shady dealer who, after a fair bit of cash changed hands, was willing to point him in the direction of an even shadier dealer. Guiche himself had done his best to be as shady as he could. The whole idea was that he was 'pretending' to be looking for some relatively sinister ingredients while insinuating they were to 'help an indecisive young woman make up her mind'. Something like that ought to gain the notice of the killer.

The fact that he actually did need the ingredients, and could use this as an excuse to stealthily acquire them, rather justified the deception. He couldn't leave a relatively pleasant young lady under the thrall of a magical compulsion for any longer than he absolutely had to. With any luck he could draw out the murderer and acquire what he needed to cure Kirche in a single stroke.

It was quite fortunate, then, that after a long morning of running from person to person he'd finally reached the end of the chain.

* * *

Malicorne had a sense of growing unease that he just couldn't shake. He'd been very glad when Guiche had asked him to join the mission and that feeling still hadn't faded in spite of their setbacks. It was hard not to be aware of the difference in status between House de Gramont and the House de Grandpré so he'd more or less leapt at the chance; especially as, well, he'd been reasonably sure that Guiche didn't actually like him due to his excessive studiousness.

In order to make up for being from a relatively insignificant family Malicorne had chosen to put his all into his schoolwork. Very few could match him on the theory, even if he didn't do quite so well with a lot of the practical applications, and he knew that he wasn't well-liked in spite of his best efforts to fit in.

So, of course, he'd been elated when Guiche de Gramont had not only asked for his help but also made it clear that he was being valued for his own skills as well as his unique familiar. Yet now, as he looked through the eyes of his Strix as it quietly followed the young Gramont around town, he couldn't help but feel… off.

It wasn't just him. Actually, it wasn't him at all. The Familiar Sight spell wasn't very well named, actually, because with proper care and focus you could share the majority of your bonded partner's senses. That included feeling, on some level or another, what the animal itself was feeling. His Pluu was uneasy and he didn't blame the creature at all.

He'd tried to give it a reasonably interesting name at first; based on the name of an old pagan death god he'd read about in a Romalian novel. However, it had proved to be startlingly good natured for a vampiric predator and much preferred answering to the far-cuter diminutive of its giving name. It also quite enjoyed cuddling up with him at nights, and playing catch-and-release with the mice and rats of the Academy than actually eating them.

In short, his familiar simply had a very sweet nature and an even temperament. Which was precisely why it's nervous demeanour now was so unsettling. It keep looking away from Guiche and scanning the crowd. Whenever it had to sit still it couldn't help but shift in place. The feeling was only getting worse as time passed, and he had no idea why.

Perhaps it was simply the city itself. This was the first time that Pluu had been around so many people. All of the sounds and smells must be strange and unpleasant for it. That made sense. After all, he hadn't seen anything strange yet so it's not like it could logically be anything else.

* * *

The very moment that Tabitha felt a rising unease she knew something had gone wrong. Having a feeling of growing dread for no obvious reason clearly meant that her subconscious was trying to alert her to a threat she hadn't noticed. There was no other reasonable explanation. It had to be something sufficiently obvious that she'd overlooked it.

An instant later she slapped the side of her dragon and begun dropping out of the sky. Just as soon as she'd put it that way in her own head the obvious had suddenly leapt out of her. Something that had, until that instant, occupied a cognitive blind spot had immediately taken on incredible, and sinister, importance. Sylphid tucked her wings in response to her master's obvious concern and they plummeted like a stone. Tabitha was barely able to force out the incantation needed to cast Levitation on herself, and was forced to squint due to having cancelled Vision Enhancement as soon as they'd begun the dive.

At some point, someone in a familiar-seeming red cloak had started trailing along in Guiche's blind spot. Tabitha had no idea how long they'd been there; her brain had absorbed the distinctive detail and automatically filed it away in the box marked 'Saito' without actually grasping the implications of it. Just like that they'd faded right out of her conscious mind.

She rolled off the side of her familiar as the young dragon pulled up at the last second; innate magic enabling Sylphid to more or less ignore whatever laws of nature would otherwise demand she become a large red smear on the cobblestones. Her master, on the other hand, chose to arrest her fall and save Guiche's life in a single stroke.

When she was scarcely ten metres from the ground she released the Triangle-class Wind Spell she'd been holding on to for the last third of her fall. Guiche was flung forward and skidded across the cobblestones as the powerful blast of wind struck between him and his would-be assailant. The latter individual was blown off their feet, still-forming icy blade flying away and embedding itself in the nearest building, but they tucked in mid-air, performed two full backflips and managed a deft three-point landing.

She'd knocked their hood back. For the first time she got a clear view of the killer. It wasn't especially helpful; although it certainly was reasonably intimidated. They were wearing a properly blacked leather hauberk under the cloak with no distinguishing markings whatsoever so that was no help. In fact, they were startlingly sparse in general. Cloak, then leather armour, boots and gauntlets. No belt or bandolier, no excess equipment whatsoever.

Their face, though… they were wearing a thick-beaked plague mask. The garment meant that literally the only identifying feature she could make out were the yellow-gold eyes. How, by the Founder, had this person just been _walking around town_ like this without being spotted yet? It boggled the mind.

There was a fair bit of screaming around them, and for good reason. She'd rather disturbed the street when she'd touched down; at least three vendors' stalls had been overturned by the blast and a lot of merchandise scattered around. The commoners seemed torn between looting the dispersed items and fleeing from the monstrous visage that had appeared in their midst.

It was just quietly watching her. A groaning from behind her seemed to indicate Guiche was still alive, although his chance of contributing to this fight was probably rather low. The enemy ought to know this was a trap by now. So what would he d-

Tabitha pushed off, hard, and flew backwards as a whisper-thin blade of ice cut through the air where her neck had been the instant before. It had formed silently mid-leap as the killer launched himself out of his landing position. When had they found time to augment their movement speed?

It was a good idea, though. One she'd have to put into practice just as soon as she could. Tabitha willed herself backwards just as fast as she could as the killer gave chase. Getting him, her, it, whatever it was away from Guiche was the first priority. They certainly made that easy enough.

She drew up an Ice Shard as she retreated and carefully released the Line spell when there were no more civilians in her line of fire. Picking her shots was incredibly difficult due to how damn fast, and agile, her opponent was. They seemed relatively ground bound for some reason but had an irritating habit of pushing off walls and vaulting over stalls that made it difficult to get a clean angle on them.

They were also keeping pace with her far too easily. She could only move so fast while flying under her own power and the acrobatics of the enemy kept bringing them within melee reach of her. It was only through quick, last-second turns that she could get out of their path.

Tabitha changed her incantation mid-stack and unleashed a blast of Frigid Wind instead of the spray of knife-like crystals the attacker had obviously been expecting. They hit the nearest wall an instant later, having leapt from one cart to the roof of a stall with intent to push off, and fudged the launch as a result of the sudden layer of ice. Rather than pressing the attack she immediately ascended above the level of the rooftop and stuck two fingers in her mouth to perform a sharp whistle.

Her caution immediately paid off as when the masked figure realised she wasn't closing in it immediately turned the uncontrolled tumble it had been in the middle of into a perfect roll that let them rise a second later. They were already moving to intercept her again when Sylphid flicked past and shed speed in order to grasp her master at a reasonable speed.

The dragon curled upwards and came to a halt above the street so that Tabitha could move around to her back. As soon as her master was secure the dragon dived right back down toward the waiting murderer. They seemed to be expecting her to come back.

However, when she did return, she wasn't alone.

* * *

Three Griffon Knights, fully armoured and armed with shields and wand-lances, matched pace with the dragon-riding girl. One of them pulled in beside her and shouted out for her to fall back before they dropped below her line of flight in order to form a rough triangle formation with the broad end forward. Those on the left and right prepped Fire spells as the rearmost built up a wide-area Wind spell.

The combo strike was one they'd practised, and was very effective, but the only reason they were willing to use it was because the fight had moved to the rooftops. Unlike rural villages the Capital had slate roofing tiles which would prevent any fires from spreading. Considering the circumstances, it was worth the risk.

Each of the flanking Knights released their spells, working in unison, as one dipped low and curved sharply left while the pulled high and right. They crossed over each other without passing through the streams of fire they were spraying ahead of themselves and then quickly reversed direction so the Inferno Wall, a reasonably tricky Triangle Flame spell, encircled the charging murderer on the rooftop.

Bringing up the rear with a Triangle Wind spell was the group's leader. Trapped as they were by the roaring wall of flames the killer would be stymied just long enough for him to slam the Rising Tornado into it. The resulting combo attack, nicknamed Inferno Hurricane by the three friends, would undoubtedly cripple or even kill the masked man. As eager as they were to capture him it was best not to leave anything to chance.

His Griffon banked to the side as he brought his lance-tip up to fire the spell and met a leather-booted foot coming the other way.

* * *

Tabitha was moving back in as soon as she saw the rearmost Knight blindsided by the flying kick to the face. She hadn't been able to see the launch through the fire even from her higher altitude and so there was no way the poor man could have caught it in time. He spun head over heels through the air as his Griffon panicked at the loss of its master. She wondered if the poor creature was the man's familiar; if so, it would already know that his neck must have snapped immediately on impact.

Trailing flames behind him the red-cloaked monster hit the rooftop and rolled to shed momentum. It was very clear that they couldn't fly, and yet they'd gotten far enough off the ground to launch the surprise attack that had claimed the life of a veteran Knight. His fellows were already making the return pass themselves; they must have realized something went wrong due to the lack of an explosion.

She pressed Sylphid with a foot to curve her steed away from a direct path and stacked up a Triangle Ice Spell. Rather than a single Heavy Ice Spear she went for Razor Hail instead. With an enemy this agile an area spray seemed most effect. They ducked low, pressed both hands to the ground and pushed off with all fours into an impossible sideways twist that carried them right through the largest gap in the random spray of hand-sized ice blades.

By the Founder… maybe she should have stayed on the ground with Guiche after all. His Earth spells could well have provided the unstable footing she'd need to get a clean hit. Of course, that would have made him a clear target from the start and she had no doubts as to the ability of this foe to end the young man's life in a heartbeat.

She curved around again as the Griffon Knights caught up for their own shot. Her intent was to try a different element altogether in order to throw it off. A wide-area Water Burst and then some more Frigid Winds might slow them down a fair bit. However, it seemed she wouldn't get the chance as it chose to surprise all three of its attackers first.

One of the Griffon Knights banked and went wide, just as she had, but swept along the rooftop with a line of fire instead; forcing them to jump over it as the other one came in for the attack. She knew which spell they would be gathering; the loss of their friend undoubtedly chasing off any hope of mercy for the killer.

The purpose of wand-lances was to assist in anti-air attacks and thus their shape made it easier to form spells such as this. They released a tightly-bound, rotating spear of wind that shot right for the chest of the killer. Due to the nature of aerial combat the speed of the mount would be added to the speed of the spell and, thus, a Knight could reasonably expect to pierce a dragon's scales with such an attack.

Something unexpected happened instead. As the spell was released the enemy gathered up their legs and then extended, as if jumping. For the briefest instant Tabitha observed that the air seemed to shimmer faintly about their feet, like a haze of heat in the middle of summer, and then their trajectory had changed. The deadly spell flew straight and true and right under the newly-altered path of the murderer.

The Griffon Knight shot right past their target at full speed, the destructive force of their spell causing it to have already torn itself apart only a few metres past the point it was aimed at, and then for the briefest instant it seemed as if two of the combatants were wearing red cloaks. Then the killer hit the tiles again, once more landing perfectly to disperse the force of their impact, and reality took hold.

The spray of blood fell, coating the roof in a wide arc, and the headless body of the Griffon Knight slipped from the reins of its steed. Its head landed only a few moments later; bouncing off the sloped surface and falling to the street below, amidst further screaming. The two Nobles still on their mounts stilled any attempt to go in for another attack and could only stare in horror as their enemy calmly straightened up and watched them impassively.

Tabitha looked to the other Griffon Knight. He looked to be the youngest of the three, though one could argue now that he was the eldest, and seemed terrified. Then she looked back to the one who had killed his comrades. They weren't moving to attack any more. Just standing there. Watching. Waiting. His icy blade hung loosely at his side. The cut had been sufficiently clean that it wasn't even bloody. She pressed Sylphid's side and dipped close enough to the other flier for him to hear her speak.

"Withdraw. This is not a fight we can win any more." The Knight looked torn at her words but, after a moment, seemed to agree with her. As if he'd heard them, and maybe he very well had, the killer turned and calmly walked along the rooftop until he reached the gap between two houses. She considered flinging one last shot at his back, a parting Ice Spear in hopes of pinning him through the spine, but thought better of it. Making him come back would just get someone else killed as well.

Then the crimson-caped monster stepped off the roof. Tabitha idled for a few moments before rising. The path of their battle stretched out behind them, marked by the the one confused Griffon still circling in search of its lost master, the other nudging the headless body with its beak, and a trail of small fires and frost leading back to where she'd left Guiche.

She wasn't quite sure how she was going to break this to him.

* * *

"That was a very interesting presentation, Professor Vallière." Éléonore Albertine Le Blanc de La Blois de La Vallière looked up from her notes as the various post-graduates filed out of the room. One in particular, whom she did not recognise, had instead come up to the front of the hall to speak to her. She frowned slightly, delicately adjusting her glasses with the tip of a finger.

"I am an academic and a researcher; not a professor. Though it seems you have the advantage of me, Miss…?" Her choice of address was not accidental. Although the clothing was good quality it was of a simple design and the style, what with the hair covered and all of those gaudy bangles, was very much _not_ what the young ladies were wearing these days. She did look quite young, in fact, and Éléonore would have hesitated to say she was more than a few years older than Louise.

"Zharaqui de Gallia." The name raised an eyebrow for a multitude of reasons. Setting aside the strangeness of her given name the suffix was certainly an ambitious one. It left the teacher wondering if she'd meant to imply she was in some way Royal, or if perhaps Tristanian wasn't her first language. "I am an aide to His Majesty, King Joseph de Gallia." Oh! Well, that also made sense. A little presumptive for a mere servant but not technically incorrect depending on the nature of her relationship to the family.

"I see. You have a curious name for one of your descent. How did you come by it?" Éléonore was, of course, referring to the pale skin and icy blue eyes of the odd woman. She also wanted to ask about the facial marking, but didn't wish to offend in case it was some sort of hideous birthmark. Well, if that was the case then surely she would attempt to conceal it?

"Oh, such a tale would surely be a bore for an academic such as yourself; particularly when I am here on business." Well, that was fine. The artful deflection said plenty enough on its own. Perhaps her mother had been unwisely taught how to read and picked it up from one of her master's books, or somesuch, in an attempt to make her daughter seem more exotic.

Business, however, certainly was a more interesting thing to focus on. There were very few kinds of dealings that could be had with an academic and, generally speaking, all of them involved giving said academic large amounts of money. So, of course, she immediately adjusted her gears from 'discerning professor' to 'charming young lady'. It would not do to deter a potential patronage, even if it was a foreign Royal.

"You are very considerate, Miss Zharaqui. Might we continue this discussion in my office, then?" The young lady graciously inclined her head in a manner indicative of quite reasonable training. Éléonore found that she rather approved of the girl's demeanour; appropriately respectful without that awful fawning servility that some Nobles seemed to like.

She couldn't stand it, herself, after growing up with _proper_ servants. Mother always made sure that they knew respect was a thing you had to command rather than demand and so she always found that commoners acting like that left her feeling just a little ill. The rule she'd established was that the more obsequious the servant was the more unpleasant the master would be and it had warded her away her from more than one undoubtedly dreadful would-be fiancé.

Once they'd reached her office, which was always immaculate and ready to receive visitors, Éléonore retrieved a fresh pot from her cabinet and filled it with a mere flick of her wand; subsequently tapping the side and beginning the boiling. She'd acquired her own set after a mere month of residence here. To think that even at Academia, the prestigious Royal Magic Research Institute, she could not find a single employee capable of brewing an acceptable pot of tea.

"Now then…" She poured for both of them as soon as she was able and found she was impressed with the girl's patience. It seemed she understood the importance of tea during negotiations; particularly when dealing with ones which, or so Éléonore hoped, might well be dealing with such grandiose themes as Royal Patronage. "What might the King of Gallia wish of a simple researcher like myself?" Zharaqui laughed as her false-modesty opener scored a direct hit.

"You are too modest, Lady Vallière. Even our own Royal Academy knows of your talents. It must be the hand of God at work, for my master asked that I seek you out due to the very topic on which you spoke today." She swore by God instead of the Founder? Romalian, then. Though her choice of topic was deeply confusing to Éléonore.

"Pardon? Your master has an interest in Elemental Geology?" The topic had been the various Elemental Stones, their formation and properties as well as the implications of the existence of a nation such as Albion. It was a topic that she was well aware was extremely dull to many even though she felt a particular passion for it. To her mind it was one of the few truly unique phenomena left to investigate.

"Indeed! For a very specific reason, admittedly. A coal mine on Crown land had a fire, you see; only, that was just the start of it. There was a remarkable explosion that caused a severe cave-in." Fires in deep mines was nothing new, but a large blast was somewhat unusual. Given the context she could only assume they had reason to expect the fire had met a buried Firestone or some such thing. Zharaqui nodded and smiled, perhaps guessing her thoughts, and then raised a finger.

"However, the situation becomes interesting from here. After the area was dug out again it was found that a large network of natural caverns had been broken into. Within were found unusual concentrations of various Elemental Stones." Now that caught her attention quite suddenly. This could be dangerous. "We had expected Firestones, given the blast, but instead it seemed that there were an unusual number of Wndstones instead."

Éléonore frowned. Forgetting about the number, their mere presence deep underground was unusual. They were normally found inside of mountains; still buried, certainly, but forming rather close to the sky. "So, given His Majesty feels our own scholars have been unable to adequately explain the phenomenon he wishes for you to inspect the site and give your informed opinion."

Not quite a Patronage, then. Pity. More of a research expedition? "All expenses will be paid, of course, and a generous donation shall be made to this institution out of gratitude for your contribution. It is His Majesty's hope that this may also foster improved relations between our two nations." Ah, yes. Of course he could not fund her directly for obvious reasons but donating to the Academia itself, an institution of Tristain's Crown, would certainly be a valid diplomatic tactic.

They spent the next hour or so hammering out the details. Number of aides, an initial stipend for equipment and so on. At some point, Zharaqui suggested that His Majesty would be honoured to host her in the Royal Palace when the subject of lodgings came up. That had given Éléonore thoughtful pause as she had to wonder what sort of man the King might be.

He certainly seemed to be a reasonable man, from what she was hearing from his servant, and quite appreciative of academic pursuits. In fact, that he trusted a female servant with such an important task was certainly a very good sign. She hadn't heard any rumours of potential suitresses. Interesting.

"It seems everything is settled, then!" Zharaqui signed off on the contract they'd agreed to, acting as an agent of the King, and Éléonore appended her signature to the bottom. The contract was sealed with the girl's letter of appointment, to confirm its validity, and that was that. "Perhaps you might like to make the arrangements this afternoon, so that you and I might leave tomorrow? I'm sure there's someone you can trust to get these things together and I can leave one of my entourage behind to handle the payment." Now that was curious.

"It seems a little fast," She hazarded, resisting the most unladylike urge to bite her lip as she did, "Might I ask why the need for urgency?" Thankfully, the young lady didn't seem to be offended by the question at all.

"Certainly you might; I am simply considering that it shall take some time for your assistants and such to get everything ready regardless and His Majesty expressed to me his wish to meet you sooner rather than later should I secure your assistance." Then something truly outstanding happened. The girl screwed up her face in a look of concentration and, somewhat haltingly, recited a statement she'd obviously gone to quite some pains to memorise.

"He also asked that I express his appreciation for the elegance of your rebuttal to Lord Bragelonne's Depth-Density Equivalence Hypothesis." Well. That settled it, then. That particular published work was a very small run, much earlier in her career, and was not especially easy to place one's hands upon. Éléonore smiled in spite of herself.

"Very well. I will make my arrangements tonight and gladly leave with you upon the morrow." They stood and curtsied to one another before she showed her delightful guest out so that she might, after perhaps a minute's wait to make sure she was well out of earshot, giggle like a schoolgirl. Well, well, well. The King had gone to the trouble of tracking down one of her more obscure papers _and_ conveyed clear evidence that he had actually read it.

That certainly spoke well for the _potential_ of this particular... Aheh… 'engagement'.


	20. Bronze and Regret

"You'll need to attend the funerals, of course."

Guiche nodded, still facing straight ahead. He was standing rigidly in the middle of the room and refused to look down. Facing Wardes was more than he could bear to do right now. Being in the room was hard enough. He hadn't raised his voice at all. In some ways, that was the worst part of it.

"I've spoken with your father." They'd gotten home mid-afternoon, and Guiche had been left alone until the next morning when the Grandmaster had finally summoned him. Stewing alone in his guilt. Malicorne had been allowed to go straight home; a few weeks of leave. He'd been following Tabitha and had been in possession of his familiar's senses when… well.

"Normally the Crown would make arrangements for Knights, but he and I have agreed that it would be best if your family covered the burial costs. It [i[may[/i] be appropriate for you to bear the coffins, depending on how their families feel. You'll need to apologize to them in person as well." For a few moments the older man drummed his fingers on the desk. Guiche continued to stare blankly at the far wall. What could he say? He had no excuse.

"Goddamnit, Guiche, stop looking like such a damnable milksop." The sudden change in town, the rising of voice in anger, brought the young man up short. Wardes stood, a sudden anger in his eyes, and moved around his desk to properly loom over Guiche. "Are you going to mope forever? Did you think you could get through your whole life and never lose a man? Don't be so naive." A thick finger jabbed him in the chest and he was forced to stumble backwards.

"You should count yourself lucky it was only two. By all accounts you were up against an enemy who might well have chosen to slaughter you down to a man. You can't _blame_ yourself for this!" He looked up then, eyes burning from the shame, and looked into the expression of his mentor. There was anger there, yes, but not the disappointment that he'd been expecting. None of the shame he so richly deserved to be heaped upon him.

"But… Grandmaster, I… those men _died_ because I-" He was cut off by a crisp backhand from Wardes that left his cheek stinging. It seemed the man hadn't hit him dead-on; merely clapped him about the jaw with his empty glove to bring him to his senses. That was what he assumed the purpose was, at least.

"Those men died because they chose to become Knights. You could just as well blame me for not training them well enough, or the recruiter who called them to the order, as you could blame yourself." Wardes drew himself up and gave Guiche a good and proper glare. There was the disapproval; but, in some ethereal sense, he felt like it wasn't being directed _at_ him. "I won't have you dishonouring their memory with pointless hand-wringing, understand?"

No. He didn't understand. If only he hadn't waited so long to… "Yes, you probably _should_ have contacted me as soon as something went awry. However, I had given you oversight to complete your mission as you saw fit. Their deaths _are_ on you, and you _shall_ take responsibility for them but I'll be damned before I see a fine young officer be broken because of his first loss." Finally, Guiche allowed himself a moment of proper introspection. He stopped beating down on himself and considered what Wardes had said.

"... I took responsibility of command unto myself and so their deaths are my responsibility. However, I could not have predicted the strength the enemy wielded nor their inhuman skill. It is… unfair for me to take the blame upon myself." He looked up at Wardes and tried to smile. It wasn't easy. "Nor is it fair for me to mope when I ought to be working to prevent such a tragedy from happening again." The Viscount smiled and patted him serenely upon the shoulder.

"Good lad. I recommend you go have a word with your familiar on the matter as well; like as not he's been where you have himself." Guiche considered that for a time. There were half-remembered words from the dwarf that came to mind, in tense moments, that made him suspect that may well be the case. Not to mention one particular epithet he proudly bore…

"Thank you, sir. I shall do so at once. If you could prepare the details for contacting the family as soon as possible I would greatly appreciate it." Wardes nodded and waved him away in considerably lighter spirits than when he'd entered. There remained a somber overtone, of course, but he felt a lot more optimistic.

In the end, all he could do was move forward.

* * *

As soon as the room was clear Matilda emerged from the corner she'd secreted herself in and lounged upon one of the chairs in front of Wardes' desk. The Viscount gave her a look of undisguised disgust that she met with a charming smile. Their relationship was a simple one. He found her to be a contemptible but useful agent and she found him to be a dangerous fanatic.

"You're rather sweet on the lad, Viscount. Sure all your loyalties are in line?" Wardes seemed to snarl at her as he moved to lock the door and began flicking his wand in the traditional gestures that preceded their meetings; an area shield against sound to muffle any potential listeners in. She took the time to poke the bear a bit more with a sort of grim curiosity as to how far she might go this time.

"If I didn't know better I'd suspect you might be having second thoughts. Perhaps I ought to put a word in with our _mysterious employer_? It'd be a shame if the boy had a little acci-" Her musings were cut short by the clear and present indication that she had gone just a little too far. Namely, the tingling tip of Wardes' wand-sword was pressed against her neck. If he decided to release the Lightning Bolt he'd charged in it there would be nothing she could do at this range.

"Hold your tongue, wench." He didn't follow through. Nor would he ever. Even though they were nominally servants of the Albion Rebellion, 'Reconquista', she could see the puppet strings behind Cromwell and knew full well that Wardes was in direct communication with them. If he killed her then he'd have to explain _why_... and it would have to be a very, very good answer.

Yes, she thought as she quite deliberately avoided touching the thick mass of scar tissue running up her left side, if you dared to disobey then you had best have a very good answer indeed. The one who spoke for their mysterious master didn't take kindly to failures, nor rejections. Some of them had learned that the hard way.

If Wardes saw her flinch he didn't acknowledge it. For all of their adversarialism they were also bound together. He hadn't asked about his scars, nor he about hers, but they knew of them all the same. So they pushed and prodded and bickered but in the end it would all come to nothing. She wouldn't say anything about his growing affection for the boy. Any time she even considered doing so a smiling blonde face flashed in her memory and all she was left with was shame.

"You're going to the Capitol. I'll send a Wind Clone with you." Now _that_ caught her interest right off the bat. She'd assumed he'd been dour because his pet trainee had been disgraced in public. Now she was suddenly less sure of that particular theory.

"Why? I thought that was one of ours. The methods certainly fit." Wardes shook his head and she couldn't help but frown. A rogue mage clad in red, publicly murdering criminals in an incredibly flashy fashion? That had 'Cromwell' written all over it. The idiot was all for that 'hearts and minds' bullshit, winning over the peasantry to prop up his little movement.

"No. Definitely not." The Viscount tapped the report that had been written up by the girl Tabitha. Neat as ever, that one, if a bit odd. Guiche had probably been too broken-up to do it. She flicked through for a few moments but eventually had to stare at him until he explained himself. "The two Knights were mine. I trained them myself, and they were… sympathetic to our plight. They would have followed [i[me[/i] when the time came. Now they're dead, and we've lost half a dozen waverers to boot."

Matilda frowned. Unlike the enemy their side was usually rather good at not working to cross-purposes. Germania and Tristain were practically at each other's throats after the marriage contract had broken down, but she'd never heard of any of Reconquista's network of agents fighting themselves. The one who organised them was far too precise for that.

"Obviously they're not Tristainian, then." She was finally interested in the case. When she'd thought it was one of theirs she hadn't especially cared. The idea of some self-righteous Noble wandering the streets of a major city and idly picking out who got to live or die, however, was infuriating. "When did this start?"

"Technically, it began several months ago. A lone man attacked in an alleyway by someone in a red cloak, as described by several witnesses. He was castrated." For as angry as this person made her she couldn't help but appreciate that a little. Given the nature of the targets that one's crime seemed a little obvious. "Killings continued intermittently and, for a time, the Watch thought they might be zeroing in on the culprit due to the locations. See?"

Right. Infrequent but quite clearly clustered around a rough centre point. At least for the first dozen or so. "Then, just a few weeks ago now, things changed." He unrolled a second map with a far greater density of markings in a much wider spread. "Three things. Firstly, the range; as you can well see. Secondly, the frequency; they killed more often and in greater numbers. Finally…" He looked up at her, daring her to complete the puzzle.

"... they started using magic." Realisation had blindsided her like a bolt of lightning The first kill had indicated a serrated blade had been used due to the roughness of the cuts. None of the indication of cold damage that identified the more recent murders, nor the clean kills that came with them. So what had changed, then? It seemed nobody could answer that.

"Indeed. Thus far the extent of the deaths has been obfuscated simply due to them all being criminals. Many of them entered the city, or even the country, illegally. However, it's long since entered into the triple digits." Thus, sooner or later, a proper panic would start. Riots… maybe even revolution, if properly stoked. It seemed so _clear_ that this had to be one of theirs.

"Any word from… _her?_ " Wardes shook his head at her tentative query. That would be just too easy, wouldn't it? Without word from above they were forced to assume it was either a rogue asset or a third party. Triggering things too early wouldn't help them at all.

"From what Guiche described I suspect they're a bastard. Spell variety seems to imply barely Line at best, with a decent enough affinity for Air and Water to sustain Ice magic. I'd hesitate to call them Triangle." That fit. While the fight had seemed impressive from a commoner's standpoint the murderer hadn't made use of a great many spells. All of two, maybe three; so it seemed, at any rate. "However, I also think they've likely been a Line mage for a very long time. Two decades, perhaps three. They leveraged their abilities perfectly, and have also trained their body to match."

Now that was especially rare amongst ranking Nobles. One of the reasons she appreciated Wardes so much in spite of his personality was because he was a Knight and thus made the effort to keep in good condition. Either a bastard or a disgraced Knight seemed about right there; and she had a sneaking suspicion that the vast majority of the latter had been scouted by their master already.

"So you think we can handle him, then? Or her, I suppose…" His only answer to that was to complete the spell to build his clone. Once it was done it shrouded itself in darkness to conceal its appearance as best it could. She couldn't help but sigh at the melodrama. "Very well. I'll just go catch your little crimson rat for you, shall I?" The clone followed her out, in a manner of speaking, by taking advantage of its natural state to fade into the environment. She went directly for her quarters to pack her things and prepare to leave.

Did they stand a chance? It had been good at dodging, certainly, but she'd like to see it dodge a lightning blast from the Wind Clone. Besides, the ice blade it had been described using might be sharp but she doubted it would stand up to a decent golem. If all else failed she could simply destroy his footholds at every opportunity. They didn't refer to Fouquet as the Crumbling Earth for nothing, after all.

Then again, it had taken out Vallière's little familiar. She'd delivered the letter from the healer that the girl had hired just that morning; apparently the break might well take two weeks to recover to the point he could walk upon it again. Because of course she'd wanted to know what it had said, as well as check the price. Poor little Louise was being ripped off.

She finished stuffing a satchel and went for the stables to grab a horse. They were all accounted for as of yet; Gramont mustn't have left yet himself. Matilda was just glad she hadn't run into him and needed to make small talk. Far easier to slink away on horseback without having to explain herself to any of the students.

And, if this turned out to be a mistake, she'd let Wardes be the one to do the explaining to the boss.

* * *

Truth be told, Guiche hadn't spent the whole day moping about. For as much as things had gone awry he still had other responsibilities. One of which he intended to discharge now. Montmorency had sent him the nearly-completed antidote and, now, all it needed was the final ingredient to be added.

He'd done so, according to her precise instructions, and had carefully observed the changes in colour. If the final mixture had, after an hour of slow stirring, turned anything other than grass-green it meant he had gotten the wrong thing.

Even though the trap had sprung early he'd still gone back, under cover of darkness, to find the last merchant he'd been pointed to. The man had, quite predictably, been face-down in a pool of his own bodily fluids; likely something to do with the mass of unsafe ingredients shoved down his throat. A fitting end, or so some might say. Guiche was not one of those people.

Recognising the ingredient he needed had been difficult from merely a description but he'd been reasonably confident about it. Even so, it had been a nerve-wracking sixty minutes before the sky-blue potion had begun to shift colour and ended up sitting at what he could only call a success. Now he only had to administer it to Zerbst.

… in the end, there was only one thing for it. She'd figure out what had happened after he cured her anyway and, frankly speaking, owning up to what had occurred could hardly make things much worse for him at the moment. Hopefully she'd be merciful to his dear, sweet Montmorency if he begged on his knees.

So it was that Guiche de Gramont found himself alone with Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst in the middle of nowhere. He'd managed to lure her away from the chapter house, and didn't he feel weird thinking of it like that, by saying that he needed to speak to her in private about a matter of grave importance.

"So, Ser Guiche the Bronzed! What could _possibly_ have possessed you to call me out to such a lovely, _secluded_ location on as fine an afternoon as this?" He winced at the distortion of his runic name, likely chosen in reference to the unfortunate tone his skin had taken on in light of his increasing exercise outdoors, but soldiered on anyway. In the face of Zerbst choosing to lay herself out rather seductively on a nearby fallen tree it was, however, rather difficult to focus.

"Ah… Zerbst… that is to say… Kirche…" It was probably a very good thing that she'd seen fit to leave her salamander behind, or else he'd feel a lot more nervous right now. "I need to give you… this." He thrust out the bottle in front of him, still quite unsure as to how he might get her to drink it. Perhaps if he claimed it was some rare beverage he was giving as a gift? No, that wouldn't work… not for the first time Guiche felt like, perhaps, his strategic skills might be a little lacking.

"... eh?" The Germanian girl moved out of her teasing pose and took the vial from him. Then she popped the cork and sniffed it a couple of times. Finally, she corked it up again and gave him a rather incredulous stare. "Guiche de Gramont… what on Halkegenia is this?" Oddly enough, as she waved it at him he felt like she might already know the answer.

"It's…" He swallowed hard, willing himself to carry on, "An antidote. To a love potion. Montmorency dosed you with it by mistake while trying to… well, to dose me." For the longest time Kirche merely stared at him. Then she began to laugh. The vial slipped between her fingers and landed harmlessly on the grass as she doubled over, sides heaving between howls of amusement. Guiche didn't quite see the humour in it, himself.

"Oh… oh, that's just… that's too… oh, Guiche, you _are_ too much. Ah… oh… oho… ahaha… did… _do_ you seriously think that I'm still ensnared a love potion?" Well… he had thought as much, yes. Right up until that very moment. The tears of laughter were starting to cause him some doubt. "Ah, Guiche, that's _adorable!_ "

Kirche reached out and patted him gently on the cheek with a faint smile. "But do you have _any_ idea how many times I've been dosed? Seriously. I've lost count by this point. I know how to recognize the effects [i[and[/i] how to get a proper antidote for myself in a timely fashion. If you're talking about the one I think you are I noticed it after only a week, and cured _myself_."

He stared blankly at her as he tried to parse that information. But then… that made no sense. Because she'd… but then… so if she wasn't… then what… with Louise? His utterly bamboozled expression only served to send her into another laughing fit and it was nearly a full minute before she'd calmed down enough to explain to her again.

"Alright… I don't feel… _that way_ about Louise. I mean… I don't _think_ I do, as such. It's just there were all these _feelings_ that came with the potion and even when it went away I realized that all of the things that brought them on were still just sort of… there. Even after I was 'cured' I was still… noticing them." He really didn't see the appeal himself but he felt like he could vaguely see what she was trying to say. "Then when Kenneth was talking about his homeland… there's this culture where the women outnumber the men something like four to one, so they sort of… _share_ , and then there's stuff they do with each other and…"

Kirche blushed. Which was a rare enough sign, and one that usually meant Kenneth had made some horribly explicit joke in Germanian again. Either that or she was remembering one. "The point is… I remembered why I'd liked Louise in the first place, before I… I got swept up in treating her just like everyone else. Even if I told myself it was for her own good that doesn't make my behaviour any less cruel. But no, Guiche, I'm not under any spell. Although, if you're not sure…"

She bent down and picked up the vial again. Then, brushing off the grass and popping the cork, she downed it all in a single go and handed the container back to him. "Mm, and I don't feel any different. So we'll both hold our tongues about this whole little thing, alright? I see no reason for you to mention my little secret if I don't speak of your girlfriend's one, do you?" Ah. Right. Yes. _That_.

For as much as Montmorency's actions, and probably his now, could get them into trouble with the Crown the things that Kirche had just said might very well place her in hot water with the Church. So, even though he had no intention of turning his friend over to the tender mercies of the faith, he still felt touched by her trust in him.

"Yes, of course. No reason to speak of such trivial matters, of course." Kirche patted him on the head and then gave him a face-crushing hug to boot that left him very red and feeling rather guilty. "Ah… yes, well… let's… let's just head back, shall we?" She laughed at his embarrassment, but didn't contradict him any. He remained pensive on the wander home.

It was rather strange to think of what had come out of Montmorency's apparent error. How what had seemed a gross failure in judgement had lead to personal growth in an unexpected way. Rather poetic, in a fashion, and a lesson that seemed appropriate to his own tribulations as of late. Even if some aspects of the situation still rather baffled him.

He was fond of Louise, in a brotherly sort of way, but had no idea what anyone might see in her in that respect.

* * *

That evening, as she ended a long day of training and returned to the second year girl's billet, Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt-Zerbst paused beside one of the small beds. The rooms had been assigned prudently and, given there were all of three second-year girls still in the training course, they came very close to have separate rooms altogether. A candle had burned down to a stub on the bedside table and a little pink-haired girl had passed out face-down in a thick book.

She was a frightful mess. Kirche conjured up a small floating light, no more than a will-o'-wisp, to see by and delicately removed the other girl's cloak. Sliding the book out from under her face required even more care but eventually she worked it free. The place was carefully marked, the book left on Louise's bedside table and the covers pulled up over her sleeping form.

The days were harsh here. Far more so than their relatively leisurely schedule back at the Academy; which made sense, considering they were more or less training for war. Undine Knights had originally been a Naval order or somesuch, or at least Kirche vaguely recalled that being one of the endless facts that the Vallière had spat at her, so the fitness requirements were significantly more gruelling than the mounted orders.

Kirche sat on the bed adjacent to Louise and just watched the girl sleeping peacefully for a short time. It was strange to see her looking so peaceful, with how hard she worked. She kept up with them all, day in and day out, while also putting in the extra mile on her own time. The book she was reading wasn't even in Tristanian; there was a Romalian dictionary resting to one side of her pillow as well.

"Did you always work this hard? Trying to belong? Did I just not see it until then? Or did I not want to see, because I wanted to imagine I was better than you?" Louise didn't respond. She was asleep, after all. Nor had the Germanian expected her to. Her feelings towards the smaller girl could only be called… complicated.

In the end, she supposed it was the kind of love that could only be borne of a deep and abiding respect for another person. She'd caught a glimpse of it during the brief period when she'd felt compelled to follow Louise around all day, every day, in an effort to simply _be_ in the pink-haired girl's presence. Then, even after it had worn off, she'd found herself still hanging around. It seemed like there wasn't a waking moment when the girl wasn't doing something in an attempt to improve upon herself; be it academically or aesthetically.

Then this had happened. She'd never intended to join the Knights, not in truth; she was, after all, a foreign national. In fact, she still couldn't fathom why Grandmaster Wardes tolerated her presence. She was grateful for it, however. Kirche had never seen someone give it their all quite like Louise did. It hurt to think of how dismissive she'd been of the girl's efforts in the past; even more so with how she didn't seem to care all that much about it now.

"... I'm sorry, Louise. It seems I'm still not strong enough to face up to you properly." Kirche turned away, pulling her own covers over herself and facing away from the sleeping girl. It wouldn't do to be _weird_ about it, after all. There were still standards to be kept.

Thus, she didn't see the figure in the bed beside her turn its head to face her for just a moment before looking away once more.


	21. Bronze and Consolation

It seemed that Kenneth and Colbert had made some fast progress in the past few days. When Guiche approached them mid-afternoon they were standing beside some metallic contraption that had steam pouring out of the top. It was attached to some large tube thing that was causing a long arm to move up and down and that was making a wheel spin. They seemed rather pleased with themselves.

"It's like a larger version of that little toy of yours isn't it, Professor? An amusing diversion, I suppose." Their projects were rather unique but he didn't see the practical applications. Was it meant to be some sort of miller's wheel? Most of those used wind or water power, so he couldn't imagine steam replacing them any time soon when the former options could be run at less expense.

"How little ye know, lad. How little ye know." Kenneth hauled himself out of the safety pit and offered a hand to Colbert. The Professor was grinning like a fresh-faced schoolboy as they watched the wheel turning. "Ah kin start makin' th' parts for th' main engine tomorrow, then. 'S gonna be a bit've a bugger, jus' th' two of us, though. Ain't sure who else ah'd trust to make the stuff t'code, though. Hm… well, ah'll see what ah kin do." He clapped the Professor on the back, and the bald man placed his hand on the dwarf's shoulder in turn.

"A fine bit of work, Kenneth. I daresay your manufacturing skills have saved me decades of work! If I can just acquire proper funding I daresay we might be able to start laying tracks within the month. Even if we use a wide-hitch and oxen to haul a basic rail cart the potential is enormous!" Guiche could have sworn that Kenneth got a bit of a nasty gleam in his eyes, complete with a grin that seemed just a little sharp.

"Bah; Ah couldn't have made this thing without ya working out th' plans. But ah'm thinkin' tha' ah might be able t'secure a proper Royal Comission fer this one. Just gotta pen a little letter." Oh dear. Quite suddenly Guiche decided that he didn't want to know _anything_ more about whatever it was his familiar was planning. "But yer quite right there, Jean. Still gotta make sure th' rails're laid proper to code, o' course, but ah reckon ye kin handle tha' much, no?" The two of them were gleefully grinning at each other, looking like they may well break into giggles at any moment.

"Ahem. I hate to interrupt, but I had hoped to speak with my familiar today?" Kenneth acquired a guilty look and stepped back to give their creation a final once-over before waving a crisp farewell to the Professor. Then he finally moved to give Guiche his full attention. "Ah, finally my loyal partner has deigned to pay attention to me." The young man sighed theatrically, but didn't really mean it. His act earned him a sharp rap on his side as the both of them chuckled.

"Aye, ye've got a point. Ah've nae been th' best mentor these past couple o' weeks, ah'll admit that. T'tell ye th' truth, ah didn't expect these kinds o' results when ah suggested to th' Professor he might like to tinker with a few mechanisms wi' me." They began to stroll away from the site of the experiments. Behind them the Professor doused the boiler; there was a high-pitched whistle as he began to let off the pent-up steam. Guiche did wonder a little as to why they were still allowed to perform their experiments on the Academy's grounds with Old Osmond still absent… then again, when he tried to imagine someone telling Kenneth that he had to go elsewhere it just didn't seem to _work_. At best it seemed they'd managed to get him to move _outside_ the walls.

"Ah mean, ah've been _told_ how steam engines work inna past an' ah could barely remember enough t'explain it coherently. Man just listens t'me describe wha' ah remember an' then he's already drawin' up plans for th' Grand Snake there." It was interesting to see him like this. Kenneth had always felt like this vast, unassailably wise figure to Guiche; yet now he was rather gushing over his tinkering partner.

"Well, I'm sure that it shall turn out to be a fine endeavour in the end; forgive my earlier incredulity." They were passing through the gates and the guards gave the Dwarf a wary look as he broke into sudden laughter before waving off the apology. Guiche tried not to look at them too closely; there were more than there had been before he left and they seemed a somewhat more… serious sort than the old sentries.

"My mission went poorly. Have you heard yet?" Kenneth had not. Thus, Guiche got to elaborate the entire operation from the beginning. They stopped around the back, by the servants' outbuildings, and about halfway through the dwarf asked him to pause for a moment; he then unslung his slab and leaned it against the wall beside his perch so he could step into the kitchens for a moment. When he returned he had a cask of ale for himself, and some assorted sweetmeats with which he consoled his young charge.

Throughout the entire explanation he was uncharacteristically quiet, however. After he cracked the cask open he drank it slowly and quietly as he gave Guiche his full focus. It was a little unnerving. By the time he was done relaying the explanation of the parts of the fight he hadn't been able to see, as told by Tabitha, Kenneth looked practically _dour_. Then, at the very end, he finally asked a question.

"Ye saw them clearly, aye? An' ye remember how they looked for yerself?" Guiche nodded, brow furrowing with confusion at the odd question. His answer made the dwarf frown for some reason. "An' ye didnae pick up anythin', did ya? Say, ah dunno, a scrap o' cloth from their cloak or somesuch?" This time he shook his head, still feeling rather perplexed. Kenneth took a deep draught on his ale and leaned heavily against the wall behind him with a deeply contemplative expression.

"Hrm. Sorry 'bout that, lad. Ah must be gettin' paranoid in me middle age. Y'wanted t'talk about them as died, aye?" This time he didn't nod. Instead, he gave the dwarf a close look. At some point he'd rested his hand on the stone slab beside him and seemed to be idly stroking it. If Guiche didn't know better he'd swear that his familiar was… well… _afraid_. Maybe he was, come to think of it; he'd never seen Kenneth in the grips of that particular emotion before.

"... perhaps that can wait. Ser Kenneth, do you… I mean… do you know who they are?" After a moment, and thoughts towards some of the stories he'd heard from the squat man, he amended his statement. "... _what_ they are?" Kenneth took a moment to finish off the dregs of his ale and wipe the foam from his beard. Then he began to unwrap his slab.

"Ah thought ah might, lad. The _look_ ye described, 'specially th' mask, made me think 'twere somethin' in particular." He finished his unravelling, revealing… a blank stone. Guiche couldn't help but chuckle a little as Kenneth snorted and grasped the sides to turn it around. "Not gonna say it; name alone's enough of an ill omen, t'my mind." He paused mid-turn and glanced over his shoulder at the young man for just a moment. Between beard and hair there was just enough face to make out a haunted expression.

Then he seemed to recover, and finished the motion. "Yer still alive, though, so ah reckon 's just me jumpin' at shadows." For some reason, the way he said that didn't remotely put Guiche at ease. He tried to focus on what he was being shown instead of told. It was more or less what he'd expected, from the one comment he recalled Kenneth making during the Mott debacle. The thick, heavy stone had what seemed at first to be some sort of aesthetic pattern or engraving upon it; right up until you realised it was writing.

There were quite a lot of it, actually, in a precise and delicate runic script. Guiche had to crouch and lean in to get a better look. Then he began to count. Twenty-five rows by seven and a half columns… eighth column had precisely seven rows, now. The runes weren't _quite_ ones he was familiar with but he pressed his finger to the first entry and made his best attempt.

"Askero… the…" He frowned, comparing the symbols to the ones he knew and making an educated guess. "Scholar?" Kenneth leaned in and reached out, laying his palm across the surface. The engravings felt fragile and yet Guiche couldn't help but feel they were anything but.

"Decent attempt. Ah find it interestin' tha' languages're so similar. 'Sage' would be a better definition, ah reckon. As'kherro… the Laughing Sage, they called him. Gave his life t'save mine. Ah still haven't quite forgiven 'im fer that." He pointed at another line suddenly and Guiche began trying to sound it out.

"Laeren. Just a lad, nay much older than ye are now. Lot less bright than ye are, though. Kind kid." Kenneth smiled and it struck Guiche in that moment just how much the dwarf looked like his father did, at times; when he was writing his memoirs of past campaigns. "Part've a local militia. Ah helped 'em repel a Zunali raiding party, right close to th' border, an' he took a stray bolt right through th' eye. Only lethal casualty we took th' whole battle. Ah still wonder what ah could've done differently, sometimes."

He sighed heavily and sat himself down beside the slab; letting his eyes roam over it and drinking in the memories of all of the names. His beads clacked together quietly in the rising evening wind. "Ah dinnae need th' slab. Not really. Every name here's etched into m'memory. Ah've had ten afore this'n, an' like as not ah'll have ten more after it." Kenneth faced Guiche, looking deep into his sombre face and frowning as he did so. "But ah can tell ye right now, lad, yer gonna have a lot more o' these than ah do."

Guiche had not been expecting him to say something quite like that. It snapped him out of his daze as he listened to the dwarf continue with slowly growing horror. "Ye'll be a right proper leader o' men some day. There'll come a time when you'll make a choice, an' there ain't not other choice to be made. Ye'll spend lives to save lives an' it'll weigh on ya fer th' rest o' yer days." He'd really thought that Kenneth might say something to make him feel better, as opposed to even worse than he'd felt before his chat with Wardes.

Then the dwarf stood up and affixed him with a firm glare. The young man could feel his knes weaken a little under the intensity of the expression. "Men shall knowingly go to their deaths for ye, boy. An' the simple fact that y'feel this guilt now means that ye will be the kind o' commander as deserves that loyalty. Ye will treat their lives with respect, an' ye will make sure their sacrifices aren't fer nothing. Guiche…"

Kenneth had used his name. He couldn't recall the last time the dwarf had done that. Had he ever? It felt like his breath had caught in his throat. His eyes felt tight and hot for some reason. As his familiar reached out he gently extended his hand so that the dwarf could clasp it companionably. His knees were still quivering.

"Ah'm right proud of ye, ah am. Maybe ye fucked up, right enough, but yer reaction t'this ain't somethin' ah'd ever shame ye for. Quite the opposite. Ah'd be proud to follow someone like ya into battle." Guiche had to fight the urge to wipe his face. He most definitely wasn't crying; that would be thoroughly unheroic. It just so happened that his eyes were watering due to Kenneh's unique porcine aroma, and had nothing to do with anything else that might be going on in that moment.

"... y'know, once we've got ya a bit more tactical training." The blatant disrespect of the last statement completely shattered any further hope of sentimentality, and the two of them burst into laughter. It was either laugh or cry at that point; although, it seemed that perhaps at least one of them had neglected the 'or' part of that particular equation. Guiche wiped his face, and then punched Kenneth right in the shoulder.

"Good Ser Dwarf, you are just the _worst_ at cheering people up. Please, leave it to the rest of us from now on, hm?" For some reason that just made the little man laugh even harder; right to the point where he lost his breath and began to cough just as heavily.

"Ahh… aheh… aye, ah reckon ye've got a point there, lad. C'mon, let's grab some grub. Y'can take some to yer lady, earn a few more boyfriend points. Goddess knows tha's how me wife caught me. Food 's th' secret to all good courtships, lad, an' never ye mind anyone who says different!" Kenneth began to wrap up his slab again as he appeared to further consider the rather broad statement he'd just made. "Well, food an' killin' giant monsters so y'can give her their corpses. Ah heard there's some sentimental tat o' a holiday comin' up from one of th' lasses; maybe you and I could go giant hunting or somesuch, eh?"

They headed for the kitchens as Kenneth continued to elucidate his plan for Guiche to eternally secure Montmorency's affections by way of fighting horribly dangerous beasts. It was a fairly blatant attempt to lighten the mood but he nevertheless appreciate it after their heavy earlier talk. Besides which, it was just rather pleasant to be able to interact with his familiar like a friend again.

Ah, he ought to let Marteau know how Siesta and Saito were doing; the Cook would surely want to know. Well, perhaps he'd fudge a few details on the last one. Then he could take dinner up to Mon-Mon and let her know things had worked out with Kirche.

By the time they were inside, Guiche had more or less put his failure out of mind; at least for the time being.

* * *

At the time the young Gramont had explained the technique he'd used to win the fight with Count Mott most everyone hadn't thought much of it; Matilda included, when Wardes relayed the details to her at a later date. She hadn't cared all that much, of course. Rather, she'd simply been curious as to how a Dot Earth Mage, even one that had achieved Line mid-battle, could possibly have beaten a Triangle Water Mage during a reasonably heavy rainstorm.

She had been vaguely aware of the _theory_ behind reinforcing one's flesh with Earth Magic. It just wasn't very common for some reason. Perhaps because it wasn't so visually impressive as the super speed that could be achieved by the far more widely-used Wind Enhancement? Flashy spellcasting seemed to be a favourite amongst more juvenile Nobles; even she had almost fallen into it herself with her initial plan to steal the Staff of Destruction.

Whatever the case may have been there she was, at that very moment, unbelievably glad she'd decided to practise it a few times in anticipation of the inevitable day where Wardes decided to finally try and off her for good. Mostly because, judging by the number of lightly oozing scratches across her forearms, she'd have have been dead approximately… seventeen times over by now if she hadn't learned it.

They'd used a similar scheme to the boy in order to draw the murderer out of town. That had worked surprisingly well, in fact. Things hadn't gone quite so smoothly from there. She'd managed to catch his feet briefly but he'd quite literally torn himself free before she could get him any deeper than his ankles.

The initial engagement had been fast and painful. He, or maybe it, had used the trees to draw any lightning away while launching blisteringly fast assaults on her anytime she attempted to block his movements with sudden bursts of rock; whatever it might be it didn't seem to have much if any metal on it and so as long as it kept branches between them the bolts earthed early. Something about that had felt odd to her, but she supposed that any lack in combat ability was due to the clone itself.

Speaking of which, Wardes' duplicate could keep up with the main in red and roughly corral him while she prepared the first backup plan. While it wasn't nearly as good as the original, possessing only a fraction of his Willpower reserves and essentially none of his initiative or cunning, it could act relatively autonomously in support of her.

As she carved a path through the forest, carefully focusing her Willpower through the dirt, she had to wonder if this was the very situation that she'd prepared for. Maybe the reason he'd sent her here more or less alone, with only a sub-par copy for backup, was that he didn't intend for her to return. If she killed the problem as well all the better, right? Assuming he'd even been telling the truth about that.

She finally stopped and made sure she was out of the area she'd worked on. This plan relied on making sure the enemy didn't touch the ground at all within the prepared space; if he was even remotely talented he might be able to recognise the spell in waiting. That was why, in the early clashes, she'd on trying destabilising his footing and dragging him under more than anything.

There was no realistic way for her to signal the clone while she was holding the strike and, so, all she could do was wait and listen to the sounds of thunder crashing in the distance. Still using lightning? The real Wardes would've switched to something else by now. The copy might be equivalent in speed and reflexes but its strategy was definitely sub-par. Still, she could tell they were coming back around now.

A flash of light heralded the arrival of the duelling pair. She could see the trail of freshly started fires behind them; Knights might very well be on their way from the Capital that very moment. Even so, she waited. If this didn't trap the target then she didn't think they'd get another shot.

When it all came together it did so incredibly quickly. Right as the man in red hit the rough epicentre of her spell the copy shredded what little remained of its Willpower reserve in order to split itself even further. The two that formed immediately divided again into four and, for just a few moments, the interplay of lightning and fire and ice between them stopped the ridiculous aerobatics dead in their tracks as the killer was forced to dodge unexpected strikes from four directions.

Matilda flung her arms skyward and voiced the last line of her incantation. It barely felt like she was using Triangle magic at this point; she'd poured almost every last ounce of her own Willpower into this. Within a good fifty-metre radius of the two, or five now, rough triangles of earth a good half a metre thick themselves began to haul themselves out of the ground. It was too slow, and she gritted her teeth as she pushed all that she had into it. Trees snapped or buckled or were entirely upended, some were even drawn along with the rising wedges, as she forced them to shoot upright and curve over.

The four clones ascended; they had precious little energy left to expend on any spells but they could block the path of their enemy with their bodies and wandblades alone. It only had to be for a few moments. One went down to a flung spike of ice, breaking apart into nothingness, and the other three immediately closed in before their foe could take advantage; it seemed that, for all of their agility, they just couldn't force their way free in time.

Eight massive wedges slammed together, forming a conical dome around the remaining fighters. Stopping there, though, wouldn't have been nearly enough. Matilda didn't let go yet; instead, she pushed it even further. Down and in at the same time until the entire mass had been crushed down into stone.

As soon as she released the spell Matilda hit the ground. She felt like she might well throw up from the effort that had taken. There was a strange burning sensation in her… well, her _everything_ really that she vaguely recognised as probably being Willpower exhaustion. It had been quite some time since she'd felt that given her usual work barely required much exertion from her at all.

 _"That was quite impressive."_ The really sad part was that she didn't even feel surprised. She merely rolled on to her side so she could look up at the figure in red crouching beside her. Their position was so bizarre as to almost be comical; a low squat with their beaked face resting on their steepled hands as if they were sitting behind a desk. Given she wasn't dead yet, Matilda figured it was probably safe to laugh. That was something she quickly regretted given it rather hurt to laugh right then.

"Before… you kill me… ask you… favour…" The figure in red, and she was quite sure it was a man now, tilted their head. It was strange how the golden eyes shone in the darkness. If it weren't for the light behind them they might well just look yellow and monstrous, as opposed to ethereal and monstrous.

 _"I am not opposed to it. Although, before you say anything embarrassing, perhaps I ought to say that I was not planning on finishing you off?"_ Their voice was strange as well. Muffled, due to the mask, and spoken with an accent that sounded like it was deliberately mimicking hers. If it weren't for the mask, in fact, it might well have put her at ease.

The way it leaned to one side so it was looking at her straight on didn't help, either. _"Really, Matilda de Saxe-Gotha, I had thought that I might like to save you instead."_ A flicker of white light about its fingertips became a short, transparent blade. _"Although, if it is your wish to die then I shall most certainly grant you that."_

Her head hurt far too much for this kind of thing. It was undeniably effective, but she just couldn't handle. So she went with the simplest solution; merely closing her eyes. Without the nightmarish visage right in front of her she could properly organise her thoughts and catch her breath at the same time. When doing so didn't lead to her throat immediately being slit she felt it was safe enough to take her time to respond.

"What do you want from me?" Asking how they knew her name had felt a little pointless. When there was no initial response Matilda opened her eyes to reveal an empty clearing. Still nothing. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, turned her head and immediately came face-to-beak with the killer once more. There was no stopping the shameful little squeal that came out, or the immediate flinch that came from finding herself in such close proximity again.

 _"We shall see. For now, it is a simple choice."_ They'd shifted back a good metre in the brief moment in which she'd reflexively covered her face. It was quite clear that they were doing this on purpose; the woman that she and Wardes reported to used similarly opaque intimidation tactics. The problem was that when you knew the person doing it could quite probably kill you at a moment's notice they were rather effective.

 _"You prepared a strategy for me; therefore, you were forewarned. However, your support was inadequate. Taking these factors along with your attire suggests that you are not an agent of this country."_ She'd have thought that was quite clear. Was this really a member of the Reconquista after all? _"Furthermore, your masters have tossed you aside. They intended for you to die here. Do you disagree?"_

Matilda nervously wet her lips and slowly shook her head. This person's assessment more or less matched with what she'd been thinking herself. Sending her for a straight-up combat assignment had felt off from the very beginning. Surely Wardes had actual fighters at his disposal? She clearly specialised in stealth and magical thievery.

 _"You knew this already."_ They digested her assent in silence for a mere moment before immediately zeroing in on the only reason she hadn't tried to tunnel away from the clone as soon as they were out of sight of the chapter house. _"There is something you are protecting. Your masters are aware of it. This thing is so important to you that you would die to keep it from harm. I see."_

The thing actually appeared almost human for a moment as it straightened out of its awkward pose and seemed to legitimately consider what it had just deduced. Seeing it almost be a person felt just wrong for some reason. _"Very well. The choice remains simple. I can leave you here, or else you can defect."_ Matilda's only possible response to the voiced proposal, at least at first, was an incredulous stare.

"Please… just kill me. If I do either of those, she'll…" There wasn't all that much hope in her for that tactic. However, it had just shown her what felt like an actual, uncontrolled emotion; thus, she did have _some_ hope that it might be swayed not to just leave her there. Even suicide wouldn't work at this point; they'd _know_.

 _"Do not be afraid."_ It stepped forward and held out a hand to her, glowing eyes regarding her with some unreadable emotion shining in them. Quite literally, it seemed. Hesitantly, Matilda took the hand. It was very strong, and they helped her to her feet with almost no discernible effort. _"If you join, then you will be one of us. Then 'she' will be one of us. We take care of our own, Matilda. Should you defect, I swear I shall make sure no harm comes to her."_

Founder help her, she almost believed him. Almost. Even if she didn't, though, what choice did she have? For as much as they claimed it was 'simple'... well, she supposed it was merely a matter of choosing her damnation. Whether it be the certainty of failure, or the uncertainty of treachery.

"... okay." In the end, her hope defeated her. If there was a chance, even the tiniest chance, that she could protect Tiffa from the monsters at her back then she'd gladly throw her lot in with the monster in front of her. The masked man nodded, clearly pleased with her choice.

 _"Very well. This will sting a little."_ The man reached out and placed his hands on either side of her head. His grip was gentle and serene; like the most cliche gesture of a cheap, sappy romance novel. All of the threatening airs and danger seemed to leak out of him as she _felt_ him completely relax. For the barest instant her own wariness dropped to match his in a transcendent moment of absolute trust.

He was wrong, as it turned out; when he snapped her neck she didn't feel anything at all.


	22. Bronze and Revelation

The first responders to the clash outside of the Capital arrived to a scene of total devastation. Massive chunks of the forest had been uprooted and apparently smashed together, then crushed down into a stone ball. When an Earth Mage finally cracked the thing open they found no traces of anything inside.

Only one body was found. Viscount Wardes found himself standing over it the next morning with a grave expression on his face. When the undertaker had seen the look in his eyes they'd stepped out in order to 'give him a moment'. As if he was going to start crying or something.

There would be no tears shed for Miss Longueville, also known as Matilda de Saxe Gotha, colloquially referred to as Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth. Nobody would even know she was dead. He pulled her eyes open and shone light in them from the tip of his wand then carefully checked for pulse and breathing. When he found none of those he charged a quiet spell and pressed the tip of his wand to her chest.

Her body jerked for a moment as electricity surged through her body. There was a faint smell of burning that he waved away with one hand as he eyed the corpse. If she'd been faking her death somehow then she was definitely not now. That jolt had earthed itself into the table below her and passed right through her heart on the way.

"Tch. Couldn't even take the bastard with you. Useless wench." He didn't spit on her but for his tone he might as well have. Even so, he slipped the man a few ecu on the way out and asked that he have her cremated at his earliest convenience. As an afterthought, he added a couple more coins and suggested that he might like to have one of his assistants sprinkle the ashes somewhere pretty.

The old man seemed plenty pleased to do both of these things; likely assuming she'd been some lover of his or some similar rot. That was perfectly fine by him. The less anyone questioned it the better. Who she really was, why she'd been there and her status as a powerful Earth Mage were all things that would fade into obscurity without any leads. He wasn't intending to provide any; which was why he'd thought ahead, and come in disguise.

He left town on foot and trudge for perhaps half an hour before veering off the path to search for the copse he'd left his Griffon in. Even though he'd been reassigned to the Undine Knights they'd let him keep his mount; partially because it wasn't like anyone else would be able to ride it. Once aboard he'd be back at the chapter house in no more than another hour and a half or so, if even that.

Wardes had never known much about Matilda, or Fouquet. Why she was a thief, where she'd come from… all he knew was that Saxe-Gotha was in Albion, but while she certainly wasn't a Loyalist she also didn't seem to be Reconquista either. Nor had he been particularly close to her in any way. When the order to clean house had come down from on high he hadn't questioned it.

He knew that, should his usefulness wear out, he would be swept away just as easily as her. It was something he'd known for a long time. Even so, it had never bothered him before. Wardes had never really felt he had anything much to live for anyway. All he had were his ambitions and he knew with certainty that those would be fulfilled by his masters one way or another, in the long run. They'd listened to him.

Now, though… he felt uneasy. As the chapter house rose into view in the distance he could see the crowd of children training in the main courtyard. Not really children, save by comparison, but he couldn't help but think of them that way. He'd only ever had grown men under his command. Training hadn't been his purview. It was very… it was quite… it was rather… well, different.

As he pulled in for a landing he carefully put together the proper mask. Grandmaster Wardes; fatherly, patient and wise. They crowded around as always, ever excited by his mount, and the beast began preening in undisguised glee at the attention. Guiche wasn't there; perhaps he'd stayed the night up at the Academy. Well, it wasn't like a day of rest would hurt his progress any. He would make a fine Knight either way.

Wardes didn't wonder why that thought hurt so very much.

* * *

A carriage pulled up to the Vallière's estate and just as soon as it had stopped a young woman with an imperious gait practically launched herself out of it. The servants smiled and chuckled to themselves; for all of her comportment it seemed Éléonore was excited to be home.

"It has been a long journey and I am simply exhausted; please inform Mother that I shall be in my room." That, however, was _quite_ unusual. The head butler stepped forward but she moved past him before he could even finish greeting her. He frowned; not from insult, but rather from almost paternal concern.

All of the servants of the Vallière's were quite fond of their charges and knew them well; if Lady Éléonore was being so rude as this then she must be rather unwell. He pulled one of the maids over and bid her to ask the kitchens to brew a pot of the young lady's favourite blend and send it up at once. That ought to improve her mood some.

He then went forthwith to inform his mistress that her eldest daughter had arrived home. One of the girls would inform Lady Cattleya as well. It had been some time since so many of the family were together; now all they needed was little Louise to stop by for a visit and it would be like a proper reunion. Alas, she was busy with her schooling.

When Karin was informed that Éléonore was home, and seemed to be unwell, she immediately put aside her writings to go see her daughter. The notes on troop detachments and supply chains were very important, of course, but not so important that they couldn't wait a few hours while she checked on one of her children.

Éléonore had drawn the blinds and crawled straight into bed. Quite literally, in fact. Karin could see that she still had her shoes on and the covers were piled up on top of her like she was five years old again. Well, not that such habits had faded until well after she'd turned nine. It was always hard not to forget that they weren't just little girls anymore.

"Éléonore?" She called out softly as she moved to the side of the bed. There was no response from the bundle. Then she rolled her eyes a little and pulled at one edge of the covers to reveal the girl's face. Well, the Duchess could see just what Édouard had been talking about. Her daughter's eyes were half closed and she scarcely seemed to recognise that her mother was there.

Karin checked the girl's forehead. Slightly warm, but not feverish. Then she noticed her lips were moving. Frowning, she leaned in and turned her head just enough to be able to hear what the girl was mumbling to herself; for, indeed, it seemed she was actually speaking out albeit quietly.

 _"It has been a long journey... and I am simply exhausted... please inform Mother... that I shall be in my room."_ When she turned back to look at Éléonore it was with an expression of great concern. The girl seemed to be totally and completely out of it. Then her nostrils flared and she caught a strange scent in the air just as her daughter's eyes suddenly seemed to focus on her face.

* * *

"I'm decent."

The door opened and Jessica poked her head into the small room; smiling as soon as she caught sight of Saito seated at the tiny corner desk with the books laid out before him. They were the account books for the business and, since he had little else to do at the moment, he'd offered to look over them. The proprietor had been well pleased with him.

"The healer is back again, to check up on you." He sighed and nodded to her with great resignation as she went down to show them up. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture on Louise's part; it was just a little frustrating. As soon as the door was closed he pulled himself to his feet, walked around to the bed and perched on the side; taking a moment to make sure that the splint on his leg was still aligned properly.

Saito laid his leg out in front of him and clenched his teeth as he eyed the offending appendage. Then he clenched his teeth and drew one of his daggers out from under the pillow of the bed. Without his gloves on the glow of the runes on his right hand was plainly visible. He gauged the appropriate amount of force and then calmly struck with his free hand.

The crack as his leg broke was barely audible; he'd judged it just right, it seemed. As he heard footsteps from down the hall he put the blade away and waited calmly for the door to open. When it did a slightly plump but kind faced woman came through, wand in hand, beaming at him all the way.

"Good morning, good morning Mister Saito! Well, for a little while longer anyway. Terribly sorry I'm late, but we had a young man fall off his horse this morning and his arm was in a _frightful_ state. Shall we get cracking?" They carefully rolled up his pant leg and ran the tip of their wand up and down. He could feel the blood shifting as they delicately palpated the internal musculature.

Whenever they passed over a broken part he made sure to visibly wince. It wasn't that he didn't feel the pain but, rather, that he'd never quite understood why other people found it so debilitating. Better to show willing, however, as such things tended to unnerve more typical individuals; such as this woman.

"Oh, very good. You heal fast, young man! I think you'll be able to put weight on it within a week or so, and have full function again before the month is out. How I wish that all of my patients were as hale and hearty as you." She smiled, smoothing down his trouser leg again, and then began making sure the splint was aligned properly. It was, of course; he made sure of that. The less time she spent here the better.

"I think we only have your expertise to thank for that, madame, and your excellent apothecary work." Even if it was blatant flattery he delivered it with sufficient sincerity that she flushed just a little bit. Speaking of medicine seemed to remind her, however, and she handed over that day's potion; just another little trick he'd picked up for making meetings smoother.

"You're too kind. I'm sure you remember, but make sure to take it after a meal and drink the whole thing if you want to be back on your feet as fast as possible. Well, it's not like I need to remind you. More than anything I just wish all of my patients were so obedient! You're a credit to your employer, young man." He didn't dissuade her from patting him on the cheek in a grandmotherly fashion as it seemed to bring her some measure of indefinable comfort. Even if he couldn't grasp why he could certainly humour her.

As soon as she was gone he pulled his pant's leg up again and pressed his fingers to either side. His left shoulder tingled as golden light gathered around his fingertips and seeped into the bone. A moment later he began carefully untying the splint before standing. The knife was retrieved so that he had enough grip strength to pull the nails out of the floorboards with his bare hands and, from beneath, he began to retrieve his things.

A set of oil-blacked leather armour. Sturdy boots. A second cloak; slightly older, slightly more faded and just a touch more worn than his own. Plague mask. They were laid out on the bed as he stripped down to his underclothes. He held a hand out as his right thigh tingled and a faint brownish glow gradually became visible.

A sphere of white material began to gather in his hand as he carefully stripped the substance from his skin. It used a base of white clay that matched his pale skin tone rather nicely but while it was fine when he was wearing relatively loose-fitting clothes it would rub off and chafe if he left it on while using the armour. One by one various multicoloured tattoos were uncovered as the ball of earth grew larger and larger until he was finally done.

The sphere went back into a small pot, he'd add a bit more water and remix it later when it came time to reapply, and he then put the boards back down. He could press the nails in with one finger, although he had to take care not to push them down too far, and then he put the knife away as well.

There was a moment of static and crackling power in the air around him as he relaxed. First, the untensing of his muscles caused a series of pops from his joints as they loosened up. He gained approximately a centimetre in height from that alone, and another three when he actually stood up _straight_ for a change. The markings on his skin remained clearly visible even as he himself changed; another twenty or so centimetres were gained in the actual transition.

He pulled his armour on and secured the cloak with great care before finally donning the mask. It was always a little awkward fitting it over his muzzle but he made do. This identity was nearly done with anyway; he simply had some last few errands to run before he could allow it to fade away.

As he unlatched the windows there was a sound from behind him. Saito closed his eyes with an expression that would have been a grimace as he turned his head to see the door swing open and a shocked Jessica standing there. He sighed deeply.

 _"... I really do wish that you had not caught me."_

* * *

Armand saw the carriage long before it reached the main gates thanks to the placement of his study and desk. He could see across the rolling plains of the Gramont estates from the window in front of him and all the way down to the end of the long, winding road that lead to their ancestral manor. One of his forebears had been a suitably paranoid man.

So it was that he was already in the courtyard when the gates opened and the vehicle trundled over the cobblestones to come to rest in front of the main door. It wasn't Adrien's, or Maximilien's, so that really left only two options and the lack of a particular booming voice certainly gave him a few suspicions.

His theories were confirmed when the door opened and his second-youngest stepped down. As soon as he caught sight of his father Francisque smiled broadly and walked over to offer his hand for a firm, brisk shake. Which is probably why he seemed so surprised when his admittedly emotionally distant father walked right past that and hugged him instead. Truth be told, Armand was a little surprised by himself as well.

"It's good to see you home, son. We have a great many things to talk about." He'd likely startled the poor boy something fierce, given how much he'd stiffened up, but if the whole incident with Guiche had taught him _anything_ it was that he ought to make sure his sons knew how much he cared about them. Even if… no, _especially_ if he didn't quite agree with their life choices. Painter or not, this was still his son.

"Please inform father that I've arrived; I shall await him in the study." The calm phrase from Francisque brought Armand up short. Almost as much as the sudden chill he felt spreading through his lower back. As he loosened his grip and stumbled back a few steps he realised that the boy hadn't embraced him in return.

Now he was staring at the sky. He could faintly hear screaming; one of the maids? Armand didn't understand what was going on. His vision was swimming, turning dark, and he couldn't move his limbs. In the corner of his gaze he could see, in a haze of black, Francisque standing there with a dull-eyed smile on his face and a long-bladed knife in his right hand. Where… what…

Armand closed his eyes.

* * *

There was a sudden, sharp sound followed swiftly by another. Two quick bangs in rapid succession. Karin looked down to see a hole torn in the covers and felt the searing heat spreading through her lower stomach. When she pressed a hand there it felt sticky. She was bleeding.

Éléonore didn't register as she fell backwards. The girl didn't even seem to know where she was, let alone what she'd done. Karin had been shot before, of course, so she knew what it felt like; but never in the gut like this, nor from so close a range. All of the breath had left her body in an instant and she felt like she was drowning.

The door actually broke off its hinges what felt like only a moment later as her husband kicked it down. She couldn't help but smile. That fool of a man hadn't even tried the handle, had he? Such a sweet idiot. When he saw her laying there he was on his knees immediately; cradling her head and blubbering in that way he did. He'd always been softer than her… but that was why she loved him so.

"Pierre…" She reached for his face and curled her fingers so she could wipe away his tears without smearing blood on his face. Then she looked to where Éléonore still was. The girl hadn't moved. "I'll… I'll be fine. This is nothing. Something's wrong with our daughter. You have… to…" Something was wrong. It was too hot in here. Sweat had soaked through her clothes and her hand was trembling against his face.

Karin looked back at her sobbing husband and smiled at him. "Please… they're far more important… than an old woman like me… take care of them, okay?" The strength seemed to have left her arm and it went limp. Everything was going dark. Whatever he said back to her seemed to come as if over a great distance. She didn't worry, though; he was a fine man. Everything would be fine so long as he was still in charge. Slowly, Karin closed her eyes.

She just hoped that Éléonore would be okay.

* * *

Jessica frowned and marched into the room; laying the tray laden with food on the small table as Saito pulled his foot from the window sill and did his best to look contrite despite the mask. She closed the door first, and then finally began laying into him.

"I'll bet you do! You promised me you wouldn't skip any more meals!" He undid his mask and laid it on the bed as she scowled at him. It seemed that he did vaguely recall saying something to that effect. The sight of his face seemed to speak to something in her, however, and she twitched in place. A moment later she was standing straighter than any knightly novitiate might manage.

"I apologise for my rudeness, sir. It is unbecoming of me to speak to you in such a fashion." That made him wince as well. He sighed and pulled the chair back so he could sit down to eat. Might as well do it like this given how loose shifting back would make the armour.

"Jessica, while I appreciate the respect you and your father show me it's really not necessary. You're all the closest I have to kin in this world. That means that you _are_ allowed to use my name when we're alone… I wouldn't have told you it if I didn't want you to." She swallowed heavily and looked quite conflicted. Her upbringing said she ought to respect him for what he was while the man himself was saying he wanted to be treated more casually. He could tell that it was quite a clash of ideals.

"Very well, Jeirazh. But you can't stop me from showing you the respect you deserve." He grunted and tucked into the food. Having sharper teeth like this made dealing with the tougher meat a bit easier but it was still quite tasty. Well, it wasn't really all that tough; he was simply used to a rather different cooking style.

"Well, you don't need to wait on me like this either. I have been taught to fend for myself." Which he did so anyway. Even if Jessica did her best she had no idea how much food he actually consumed on a daily basis. The inn was profitable enough that they could probably afford it but he would have felt bad accepting that kind of charity from family.

"I know that. But you keep coming back and working all night to clean up after me… I'd feel bad if I didn't at least feed you." He didn't respond to that. There wasn't anything he could say to contradict her argument in this case. After all, the only reason he'd started doing this was because of her.

Meeting Siesta and finding out that there was support in this backwater world had been a blessing. Even if they didn't understand the ways they followed the family still cleaved to them like a secret religion. Gathering information and cataloguing any strange occurrences for whatever future Bannermen might stop by.

The information he'd gotten from the bizarre man who owned this place had been invaluable. This peculiar inn's style certainly seemed to loosen tongues. Then he'd found out that Jessica had taken it upon herself to 'deal with' a particularly nasty customer after his behaviour had gone just a bit too far for them to stomach and, worst of all, someone had apparently seen her face.

A threatening letter had arrived during his first nightly visit here; the very day before Louise had brought him down to purchase weaponry. It was only a day's round trip from the Academy by horseback at a lazy pace and he could easily manage faster than that even on foot, so it hadn't been too difficult to come by once or twice a week. He suffered a little for the lack of sleep but, then again, he was used to that.

Tracking down the person who'd sent the threats had been his first priority. From there it had just sort of escalated. Playing manservant with Louise was an enjoyable pastime and did let him keep an eye on Flamecutter; Mikôre only knew how the Iron Wolf would react if he got hurt and it would be unfortunate to lose such a quality source of weaponry. However, the lack of worthwhile threats had left him feeling rather bored.

In the end, killing criminals was just a thing to pass the time. However, he was just about done with _that_. As of late he'd caught the scent of something else. Something far more poisonous lurking just out of sight. The kind of thing he was born and raised to destroy.

"Thank you for the meal, Jessica. I shan't be out long." Jeirazh pulled his mask back on and stepped out of the window. Underneath his leather armour his feet tingled as the air solidified beneath them for just long enough that he could push off and flip up to the rooftop. The journey across town was an easy one to make unseen for him and his destination wasn't all that far away anyhow.

He dangled himself from a second-story window sill by his feet as he carefully picked the lock of the window in front of his face. Once it had popped open he slid right on through and began looking around. The undertaker was found leaning against his desk and easily rendered unconscious with a sharp pressure applied to his neck with two fingers. He slipped the man a small concoction that would keep him out for more than the minute or so he would otherwise while ensuring that he blamed his sudden 'sleep' on drowsiness and overwork.

There were a number of bodies laid out in the cool basement, waiting for the furnace above to finish heating before they could finish the day's work cremating them. Before he located the one he wanted he found the old man's notes and tore the page off. On the fresh one underneath he began to precisely copy the exact words save for a single line. Then he went to work.

A man of about the right size had been removed from the list of corpses brought over. He'd already been to the Watch and altered the papers on the crime scene from the other day as well. There was no chance of anyone noticing what he'd done; after all, why would anyone want to make a corpse vanish?

He carried the one he'd selected upstairs himself and slid it into the furnace. With any luck the undertaker would think that he'd done it himself and then fallen asleep. No reason for him to question it. After all, he'd been told to do it, and it was done. No bodies would be unaccounted for except the one he'd been planning to burn first, a body had been burned, so logically he'd burned it.

Finally, Jeirazh found himself standing over Matilda's body. There was a small burn mark on the chest but that wasn't an issue; Wardes had obviously stopped by to make sure she was dead. Normally this would only work within the hour or so, back home at least, but he'd cooled her body immediately after killing her and she hadn't warmed up yet. If the Viscount had fried her brain instead of jolting her heart _then_ they might have some issues but, as it stood, he figured it would work.

Golden light poured down his arm and gathered in his hands. He let it build and build and build into a large, shining sphere until, finally, he broke it into two parts and shoved it into her. One part went into her neck and there was a loud 'click' as the bones snapped back into place and refused themselves. The remainder surged into her chest and from there suffused her entire body.

Matilda's eyes snapped open and she shot up with mouth wide. He clasped his hand over it immediately, before she could scream, and forcibly restrained her as she spasmed violently against the searing pain throughout all of her body. Even then he didn't stop the golden light until he was quite sure all the damage from freezing her had been reversed.

It took her some time to calm, although she was still struggling up until he flicked her sharply on the forehead. Properly focusing on him didn't actually _calm_ her, persay; more froze her in place with abject terror. Well, either way she was still and quiet.

"Well, I did warn you. Congratulations; as far as the world is concerned you're dead." Her eyes widened as she realised what had happened. What he'd done to her… and what he'd done _for_ her. Tears of gratitude began to well up as she tried, and failed, to talk. Being dead for nearly twelve hours would do that to you. He ignored them in favour of helping her to her feet.

"Welcome, Matilda de Saxe-Gotha, to the employ of the true Crimson Banner."

* * *

Word came to the chapter house the next day that several very important Tristanian Nobles had been attacked simultaneously in what appeared the Crown was currently suspecting to be an act of warfare from the rebels of Albion. The list of names included most of the ranking Generals as well as the current leaders of the Griffon and Manticore Knights.

In light of a certain strangeness surrounding the events, those responsible were being held in custody until it could be determined if they were truly culpable or not. The culprits had not been named but rumours abounded that they had all been close to the victims.

Both Guiche de Gramont and Louise de la Vallière requested personal leave from their training as soon as the missive arrived. They were granted it immediately.

By the end of the week, Tristain was at war.

 _Dwarf of Bronze: End of Act Three_


	23. Interlude: King and Darkness

The King of Gallia stared at the muscles in his forearm as he slowly closed his hand and clenched it into a fist. After a few moments he relaxed it again and presented his open palm to the floor of the empty throne room. He clenched again; watching his flesh shifting in the unearthly green light that was the only source of illumination.

It shone from the armoured figures standing in front of the decorative pillars to either side of him. Tongues of sickly green fire licked out from the eye slit and little breathing holes in the full plate. The joints glowed as well where the phantom flames attempted to leak out of the bodies they were anchored too. Every stray wisp reached in the direction of the throne.

He had one leg over the arm and the other dangling from the front. It was a thoroughly unkingly position but he wasn't an especially traditional monarch. Even the Nobles who'd supported him had come to realise that soon enough when he'd had the old throne, an ancient relic comprised partially of Gallian timber and significantly of gold, torn out of its pride of place in his palace.

None of them had been able to comment on what he'd installed in place of it. He liked it, though. After all, he owed a lot to his new throne. It had been found in a cave, one which was clearly not natural, on the Orléans' ancestral lands along with a number of interesting little items. Their… _his_ father had decided it was an ill omen and sealed the revealed cavern.

Naturally, he'd had tunnelled his own way in just as soon as he could. It had taken a full, frustrating year of hard labour that could have been circumvented in mere moments if only he could use proper magic instead of the pathetic little bursts of smoke that came out whenever he tried. He'd done it eventually, though, even if it was with a shovel instead of magic.

Upon his return he'd taken to wonder why his father hadn't just burned the room. It certainly looked like the lair of some… foul, heretical necromancer. Apart from the throne at the rear, sitting ominously and seeming to take up far more space than it ought, there was also a heavy desk and book shelf and part of a stone wall. The floor was paved around the desk but melded into the stone seamlessly.

That was what had drawn him back. He and… when the room was discovered he'd noticed that particular detail. It had stuck in his mind. Like this was just a fragment of a larger room transposed from far away. It put him to mind of a number of stories of great wizards, supposedly of old, moving whole castles across the countryside. This had been part of a larger study or library or some such thing; he was sure of that.

Then there had been the books. Some didn't survive; all were dry but some had clearly been wet before by how the pages were warped and the writing distorted. Others had become so dry as to begin crumbling to dust at his touch. Yet, strangely, fully half of them were unharmed by the ages or the elements. It took him a while to find one he could read even then. There were six or seven different languages in there and only one bore a tangential similarity to the runic scripts of the Brimiric languages.

He'd learned. Oh, how he'd learned. In reality he snapped his fingers and then, remembering the situation, reached instead for a discreet bell pull. Warmer light flooded the room from a side door as a nervous servant opened it. This room was rather intimidating to everyone that wasn't him or Zharaqui, it seemed.

"My study. The large black book on the desk. Quickly." The peasant bowed and scraped on his way out, wasting valuable time in closing the door and allowing Joseph a return to his reverie. He ran a hand along the cool black stone of his throne. Getting it in here had been tricky. It was very heavy, and seemed to resist being moved directly via any sort of Earth magic.

In fact, it seemed to resist a lot of things. Any effort to mark or alter it in any way had proven in vain. The surface refused to even so much as warm up even when bathed in intense flames. Having it made him feel safer. He heard the whispers of the Nobles. That he'd gone mad. They were trying to keep it quiet, of course they were, but he suspected their assassins might be coming any day now.

He welcomed their attempts. With his throne inviolable there was only one direction an attack might come from. Any would-be regicide wouldn't end well. Particularly if his dear familiar had been around. With what he'd learned from the books she'd been the last piece of the puzzle. The answer to room and its contents; what they were and where they'd come from.

There had been a time when he'd thought that some of the esoteric techniques contained within those tomes were the answer to his problems. He'd followed instructions with care and delicacy, to the letter, for what few recipes or rituals he could complete. Nothing had worked. The ink had failed to adhere as it was supposed to, the glyphs had failed to elicit any changes in their environment and the sacrifices yielded nothing.

To his right the door opened once more and the nervous servant brought the book over, head bowed as they approached. He took it without so much as a second glance at them and they had left the room in a polite backwards scuttle before he'd even bothered to open his prize. There was no concern in letting them handle this one; there were only two individuals in this world who could read it, and the second was utterly beholden to him.

There was no title on the black book. It wasn't that sort of literature. All that was borne on the cover was a single, rather simple symbol. For all his searching he'd found that it wasn't one native to these lands. He didn't look at the Earth Ruby on his hand. There was no point to it; he already knew what he'd see if he gazed into its depths.

"Master." Unlike his vulgar servants this one didn't allow any other light to spill into the room as she entered. It was a talent he appreciated; as much as he was capable of appreciating anything. She stood before his throne with her head bowed in contrition. That didn't mean all that much, though. From the beginning he'd been sure to impress upon her that her flaws were deep and manifold. He didn't bother to say anything; merely continuing to lounge as he waited for her report.

"I have completed my mission. All agents have hit their targets. In addition, Wardes reports that the loose end has been tied off." Ah, yes. The ex-Noblewoman from Albion. They'd acquired her service through intimating that they knew where the money she collected through her thievery was being sent and then letting her imagination do the rest. Now that they had the item they wanted she was of no further use. However…

"And yet they haven't declared war on me. I see." He frowned, more out of habit than anything. It wasn't that he was disappointed; more that he had been expecting more out of them. Perhaps that was what disappointment felt like? It had been some time. "I thought I told you not to be subtle about it. Or did that part of my instruction _elude_ you?" She bowed deeper to him and he sighed.

"I apologise, master. However, I was not especially subtle. I made no attempts to conceal my affiliations as I recruited them, nor my appearance. Perhaps they are still too damaged to speak about the events leading up to their indoctrination?" Well, he supposed that was the problem. Joseph stood up and moved away from the black throne to one of the suits of armour. It dropped to one knee as he approached with a clatter of metal and bone.

He reached out and pulled up the visor to stare at the skull wreathed in green flames beneath. They danced and hissed and simultaneously reached toward him and recoiled from his skin. It was a curious thing. After a moment of entertaining himself with that he turned around and the wight rose to its feet once more to act as a light. As far as the rest of his court knew that was all they were.

"Well, I suppose we can let them have their own fun for a while, hm?" The King returned to his throne and started flexing his hand again; staring intently at the muscles under his arm. This diversion entertained him for only a minute or so before he looked up at Zharaqui again. "Of course, this still means you've failed me again."

She nodded slowly. He lowered his arm and leaned into the backrest. "Are you prepared?" The woman nodded again and a thin smile formed on his face. "Zharaqui… as your master, I command you; slit your throat." Whitish light formed between her fingers and became an icy blade as she raised her hand. He watched silently as it dug into her flesh and blood began to pour down her front.

There was no hesitation. No struggling or attempt to defy him. She just stood there and watched him with expectant silence as blood gushed from the gash on her neck; it was a good cut, from ear to ear. As she bled out he counted silently. There was no trembling in her even though he knew her vision had to be swimming.

When she dropped to one knee he still didn't say anything. By this point her clothes were stained red. Of course she was certainly tougher than a normal human but by how much? That was the question. Her right arm gave out and she collapsed on to her side. Finally, he raised a hand and gestured.

Weakly, trembling, Zharaqui pushed the fingers of her left arm to the gash on her neck. Golden light burst from her chest and flowed along her arm to seal up the cut. She began to breath smoothly again and tried to pull herself back up to a standing position. It took her several minutes before she could.

"I'm sorry, master. I failed to withstand it." He allowed himself a smile that was, he assumed, at least somewhat magnanimous. What a fantastic servant she was. Truly perfect. Her display was waved off as he shifted back into his original position once more.

"Perhaps you will do better next time. Go clean yourself up." Zharaqui bowed deeply again and began to weakly limp away. Before she could get out of the room he raised his voice again. "Oh, and I sent a girl to collect the book from my room earlier. Deal with her." His familiar nodded. There was no need to elaborate to her. After all, the peasant had seen the image on the cover.

As she left he flexed his arm again, but this time he didn't look down. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned back; staring into the darkness inside his own head. At his side his hand unclenched.

A few moments later his skin shifted again.


	24. Interlude: Pious and Golden

Vittorio had always suspected that it would end up being him.

Finding the wielder of the Holy Void was always a little difficult. The rough bloodlines they could be born into were known, to an extent, but the potential for branches and bastards and all sorts of other little genealogical complications made it tricky. Especially since it was easy for the child to be dismissed and consigned to far less proper pursuits.

He often wondered what would have happened had he not been born in such an advantageous position. Would his lack of initial ability have caused him to be dismissed? Cast aside as a failed noble? Were he a woman he might have been sent to a nunnery, for example. Well, there was no point in dwelling on it. Not today.

This was the moment of proof. If he could summon an abnormal familiar and bind it with the runes of the Lifdrasil, thus demonstrating his status as an inheritor of the Void beyond a shadow of a doubt, then he would be elevated to the highest office. Even with his apparent lax magical talents he'd accumulated a great deal of influence within the Church; now, if he passed this test, he'd be one of the youngest Popes that ever lived at a mere seventeen years of age.

Even finding out the _name_ of the familiar had been hard enough. For whatever reason Brimir had not seen fit to entrust knowledge of it to the future generations. His painstaking research had lead him to believe that its purpose was to amplify the power of its master in some respect although he couldn't discover the specifics. Still… with the already legendary strength a Void Mage was said to possess…

"Pentagon of Five Elements I beseech thee; unify around me and cast my message unto the universe!" The circle for the summoning was perfectly inscribed. He had every ritual accoutrement that could be acquired; even though it was likely very little of it did anything at all. If it might make a difference, though, he had it.

"I call to you, O Familiar of the Void! I seek your power and your wisdom! Come forth! Deliver thyself unto me!" There was a crackling in the middle of the circle for a few moments as the air began to distort. Vittorio held in his head the image of what he sought; something great and powerful and mighty. With the legendary Void Familiar his future, his plans, would all be assured.

There was a thunderous detonation and a surge of smoke filled the room. Sharp cracks sounded as the stone floor of the ritual room cracked and shattered. All of the gathered priests ended up coughing heavily until one finally had the presence of mind to cast an Air spell and use it to disperse the smog.

As soon as they had vision the summoned entity was upon him. It had knocked Vittorio down in a moment and had a heavy boot, with metal studs, on his chest along with a sword blade at his throat. The startled priests around them had wands and staves half-raised but had all frozen in place. At first it had simply been that because junior had been clearly taken hostage but, as gears turned in the heads of some of them, the thick worry turned into gut-twisting fear.

It was a man. He looked much like their own crusading knights save a few details; maille he had, certainly, but the tabard was yellow with an asymmetrical symbol on the front in black. It was too rounded to be derived from any sort of Brimiric script; there was one lightly curving line, one that curled back in towards itself and one that started out straight but suddenly hooked back into nearly a full circle.

He would've compared it to the writings of the people of Rub' Al-khali if it weren't for the man's appearance. The hair fit; just a dark enough brown to perhaps be confused for black, similar to the eyes, but his features themselves could have been hewn from granite, or perhaps chalk given the complexion. There was a faint golden haze about their back where the light caught the shining threads of their cape.

"Where am I?" They spoke something much like Romalian, although the accent was thick and archaic. The sword didn't so much as tremble. Part of Vittorio was gleeful and proud while a far saner part had frozen him with terror. "Who is in charge here?" He glared up at the men around him and then looked back down. One of them had, quite involuntarily, stolen a glance down at the young captive.

He had summoned a human. Just like the Void Mages of old. A skillful warrior, no less. If only the Romalian line were the inheritors of the Gandalfr he might be weeping with joy. As it stood he was still in mortal danger. Which was quite a problem for the gathered priests given he had just proven his qualifications for ascendancy to the holy throne.

"That would be I, good sir knight. Pray allow me up; we meant no ill will in bringing you here." The sword didn't budge. Once more the calm gaze passed over the assembled priests, looking at various beards and graying hair and finery, then back down to Vittorio in his relatively plain blue robes with one eyebrow raised.

"I see, I see. Well, well. All these distinguished gentlemen and the boy is the leader? What, you their Prince or somesuch? We must be well far from Zunal, then." Breath was caught in many throats as the man seemed to weigh up his options. Then he retracted the sword and sheathed it. Arming sword sans shield; interesting style, for a knight.

"I am Iulius Caesar Aurelius of the Seventh Golden Legion of Zunal. Since I seem to recall some sort of strangely enticing portal I suspect that the name 'Kelicho' would mean nothing to you people?" It was uncanny how much he just _felt_ like one of the high ranking clergy. There was a certain contemptuous, almost sneering, tone that was present simply as a matter of course. Even so, he offered a gloved hand to Vittorio to help him up; the gesture easing the tense situation significantly.

"Indeed; you are in the Holy Romalian Empire on the Ausonian Peninsula of Halkegenia." Iulius grunted noncommittally and began to rub his face with one hand as he began to take full stock of the surroundings now that nobody was being threatened. Vittorio felt he had a good opening here. "Sir Aurelius, I called you here with a particular purpose in mind. We seek to-" He was quite suddenly, and rudely, cut off mid-sentence by the gruff man.

"The staves, and the little sticks… wands, correct? There was a ritual, so you aren't entirely bucolic; although with the iconography I do suspect a certain amount of god-bothering." There was a heavy warmth across Vittorio's face as he felt distinctly embarrassed by this knight's poor taste in words. Perhaps he was merely a crusading soldier or mercenary then, and was being given far too much leeway by the newly-minted pope.

Before he could make an attempt to chastise the man he'd summoned, something sorely needed given how his behaviour was causing the old men to start to titter at the clear lack of respect being shown from servant to supposed master, a faint smirk appeared on the uncouth individual's face. He then followed up with a thoroughly disreputable question. "Tell me, boy; in your culture, what would it mean if one were to perform magic without the little stick, or an appropriate overcompensator?" Vittorio bristled as Iulius jerked his head towards one of the cardinals whose staff was, admittedly, a little on the large side.

"Heresy, most likely." His response was also a little on the smug side. It was time to reclaim the respect he was owed by this common soldier with a little forcefulness. "Or elvishness. Only such creatures would wield unholy magics of that ilk." That, thought Vittorio, ought to short-circuit whatever it was the buffoon was thinking. Any confidence he had in the matter, however, didn't last long at all.

Iulius' expression immediately turned stormy as he rounded on the young man and _loomed_. He was quite good at that due to having a good twenty centimetres over Vittorio. The thick soles likely helped. As did the broad shoulders and rather fancy cape. It was only then that the implications of the question really got through to him; he chose to blame the shock of the explosion for it.

"Well. In _that_ case I am going to ask that you _kindly_ do not compare me to degenerate, pointy-eared **sub-human** ** _filth_**." While he spoke Iulius lifted one hand and, on the last word, punctuated it by making a fist. As his fingers came together there was a sudden sharp stench and a thick crackle of electricity formed around the clenched hand. Several of the old men stumbled or even leapt back with shock and fear.

Vittorio didn't. His eyes were wide; not with fear or awe, but with sheer, unadulterated glee. This was as golden an opportunity as any that could have been afforded him. The reaction from the young man seemed to startled Iulius somewhat when he noticed it; he lowered his hand and took a step back himself upon glancing back down to his summoner.

"I think, Sir Iulius, that you and I have much to discuss."

* * *

Three years of bloodshed pass. A figure in a tabard quartered into blue and yellow, with a complex black cross on the blue of the right breast and an odd curving sigil on the yellow of the left, leads a dilapidated train of soldiers and baggage down toward the sea. A number of ships with sails marked by the same cross awaited them there. There were perhaps five times as many ships as would be needed to carry the number of returning soldiers. That was not a coincidence.

On this Crusade the First Divine Legion acting under General Iulius Caesar Aurelius had taken eighty percent casualties. Just under half of those were only injuries; for every walking man there were nearly two that had to be dragged across the sand on litters. A second train was several days behind them; those uninjured enough to walk. There was no need to fear for them. The General spat at the thought as he neared the water and strode out on to it.

Damn Elves were the same no matter where you went. Self-righteous dicks that thought they were just so _superior_ that they could afford to let the retreating troops just limp home in shame. Water stilled beneath his feet, waves becoming smooth as glass for thirty metres in all directions as he strolled over to a hastily lowered gangplank. It too rested firmly on the surface of the sea and, as he stepped on to it, he raised a hand clenched into a fist and held it up until he had stepped over the railing.

As soon as he released his hand the stillness, which had expanded during his ascent to an area nearly two hundred metres across, ended. The bright light that shone from his chest, coincidentally right where the curving sigil had been placed over his heart, ceased at the same time. Subtlety hadn't been a trait he'd bothered when it came to magic; not since he'd become Vittorio's familiar. The fighting had drained him down to ordinary power but he'd topped up again during the walk back to the coast.

He'd swear the runes recharged faster on the mainland. It wouldn't surprise him if that were the case; just another way the pointy-eared treefuckers could irritate him. Not that there were many forests for them to spend their days mooning over in this accursed desert. He'd be glad to be well rid of it for another couple of years. Their first foray had been even more disastrous than this one and it hadn't lasted more than a month. It had taken two and a half years for Vittorio to gather the manpower, and goodwill, for this excursion.

In theory these weren't full on Crusades. They hadn't called for the full muster of Halkegenia to come and unite under the banner of their oh-so-'holy' Founder so as to march against the impious monsters. These were simply 'excursions'. Expeditionary forces. Iulius had learned a number of important lessons from his first failure.

For example, his troops couldn't keep up with him. That had been a painful lesson to learn. Especially as it had been immediately followed by one just as painful; namely, that these Elves got stronger a lot more quickly as their numbers increased. One Elf he could handle just fine; even the rare ones that used their trump spell of 'Counter' quickly went down in the wake of a gout of Starlight. However, fighting two at once was as tiring as fighting three sequentially. Three at once was about as bad as as _six_ sequentially. It only got worse from there.

He'd finally been forced to recognise that, if faced with four Elves fighting _together_ properly. as opposed to fighting _adjacently_ , there was no option for him but to retreat if he was alone. An army at his back helped a lot; it split their focus and let him force them to fight him more or less one at a time. Iulius was confident that nobody on this miserable world could match him in solo combat when he was fully charged.

Next time he'd bring dragons. Getting them over the water between here and Halkegenia proper, the locals referred to it as a sea but he'd long since downgraded it in his mind to a mere strait, wasn't all that hard. Transporting food was tricky enough. He had no idea what the blasted Elves fed theirs considering the terrain. It had certainly made a difference during their last charge. They'd _almost_ overtaken the fort when the sally had come forth; backed up with aerial fire from the troop of dragons that had arrived with the sunset.

It had been hellish. His mages couldn't hit the damned things from the ground very easily and although he could shoot them down one at a time with bolts of Starlight it took far too long and far too much focus. They still didn't have an answer for that elemental combination but he'd been forced to reveal another trick in his arsenal; namely, resurrecting the long-defunct Fire-Earth combo of his homeland to transmute the front layer of their fort wall to lava.

That had thwarted the sally, at least. They'd still taken an infuriating amount of casualties by way of volleys from within the structure and the continued bombardment from above. Most galling of all was the way they'd _stopped_ firing halfway through the retreat. He'd had half a mind to order another charge at that moment but had regretfully allowed his men to continue their escape.

Those still on deck backed away from Iulius as a hissing sound emerged from between his clenched teeth. He held his hand out as light began to shine; white and hot and blindingly bright. Power surged out of the runes over his heart and mixed inside of him for a moment before pouring into the glowing sphere of energy in his hand. It grew and shrank in pulsating motions as the deck began to creak and crackle. Cries of alarm went ignored as the sailors desperately began to splash water over the rapidly drying and blackening deck.

There was no point trying to call out to the General. He was certainly a powerful and inspiring commander, a charismatic and dashing figure back in the Holy City as well as a chief confidant to His Holiness; however, anyone who had served with him knew well how easily such things were cast aside during his legendary rages. Much like this one. Even the Captain of this particular vessel, the flagship of the fleet, could do nothing but summon up his own Willpower to pull water out of the sea to splash it over his ship and crew alike; protecting both from the sweltering heat surging from the outstretched palm of Iulius.

Finally, with a powerful overarm and a crack of thunder, he tossed the globe towards the desert. Thanks to the force imparted by the last burst of his power it sailed over the dunes and past the trailing end of the army before finally touching down. When it hit there was a sudden, terrible blast of heat and light that caused a rising pillar of flaming sand to surge into the air. Around the point of impact there was a bubbling orange pool that, when it cooled, would be a twenty metre wide semi-sphere of glass. Crackling lightning flash-forged the flying sand into bizarre shapes as the chunks sprayed out.

The wind of the detonation carried a wave of grit with it that washed over the soldiers. Some were struck by flying debris; nothing large enough to injure, but some of the shards were sharp as knives and more than a few men were cut by them. By some miracle the number of casualties didn't increase by more than a single percentage point.

General Iulius inspired awe, respect and absolute terror in equal measures. He was absolutely a talented commander; it just so happened that part of that talent was the simple fact that the vast majority of his soldiers were far more afraid of him than the enemy. Considering who they were fighting that was no small feat.

For his part he felt significantly better now. He'd never been subject to such fits of towering fury before the accepting the branding from Vittorio. The power that gathered in his chest seemed to be tied far more heavily to his emotions than the magic he was used to wielding as a Zunali battlemage. While the internal power source meant he didn't have to fear Burnout as he would at home it did seem to come with its own downsides. Sometimes he just had to use it up so he could calm down.

A snap of his fingers caused a snap-chill that put the crew at ease once more. Then a wave of golden light washed over them and erased the large blisters that had begun to form during his little episode. For all that he was an intimidating commander the men also knew that he wasn't heartless. At least not so far as humans were concerned.

Without a single word to any of them Iulius left the deck and went to his cabin. He pulled off the fancy breastplate, alchemically reinforced apparently, and dumped it on the floor. It lay there as he struggled to remove the rest of his gear at which point he gave a heavy sigh, picked up the armour and put it properly on the frame in the corner of the room.

Once all his things were in order he sat at the desk and began to painstakingly pen the last few chapters of the campaign document. He didn't have that long to go; much of it had been completed on the dull nights of the trek back. They'd only been rarely harried by the Elves; simply to make sure they were still heading for the coast, he suspected, considering that they hadn't seemed to slaughter the second group of wounded trailing well behind the main force.

That arrogance was the reason he'd just converted a rather wide area of the desert beyond to a twisted mass of lightning-fused sand and molten glass. Those sub-human degenerates were looking down on him. Underestimating him. It was as if they were saying he wasn't _worth_ it. If their roles had been reversed here he'd have harassed the enemy all the way to the sea and made their boarding as unpleasant as he possibly could to boot. Damn it all, with that kind of disparity in troop quality he'd have just wiped them out.

Well, when the time came he would certainly do that. He'd crush their fortresses, burn their villages and eradicate every single one of them; down to the last man, woman and pointy-eared brat. Every plan and platitude and sermon about 'the Holy Land' that Vittorio came up with? They meant nothing to him. Iulius would wipe them out for the glory of the Golden King, and the ascendancy of humanity. No more, no less.

That would have to wait. He'd made the final push in response to receiving a missive from his so-called 'master'; His Holiness, the Pope of Romalia. As if he'd ever take orders from a little shit like that unless it suited him. The boy was lucky that his aims suited Iulius' whims; something he'd long suspected was known to the both of them. Well, he supposed that so long as there was the appearance of obedience that would work just fine for Vittorio as well.

The letter had half been a command to return to Romalia, and half to inform him that the morons with the gall to try and claim the title of Crimson Banner had finally made their move. Or so it seemed. They'd had control of the island for some time now; essentially acting as an occupying force with the old Royalist faction being more like a rebellion up until the idiot Prince finally got himself killed.

Now, though, something strange had happened. Strange enough that Vittorio was being coy about putting it in writing. That meant it was important. So he'd made a final push against the fort, had his army's collective backside handed back to him in bloody chunks and ran away with his damn tail tucked firmly between his legs.

He clenched his teeth as he felt the warmth gathering in his chest again. No, there was no need for that. The Elves would get what was coming to them. For now, he'd amuse himself dealing with a few morons who like as not just wouldn't be able to recognise quite how out-matched they really were.

Slaughtering the Reconquista would be like a pleasant vacation after fighting elves for six months.


	25. Bronze and Zero: Grieving

Guiche cried. He was unashamed of it. His hands clutched the hand-written missive and he sobbed into the paper. Montmorency had pressed herself against his back and had nestled her face into the crook of his neck. She said nothing. He couldn't speak.

Without her support he'd have likely collapsed into the bed right now. The room was Wardes'; the Viscount had volunteered it to the young man before excusing himself. Kenneth had been with him for a time; awkwardly patting him on the shoulder now and then but saying nothing. He'd left when Mon-Mon had come in; collected directly from the Academy by Griffon-back.

The worst part of it wasn't the feeling of loss. Until recently Guiche had never felt all that close with his father. That they'd finally started to reconnect, to reforge their filial relationship, was merely an added nail in a coffin of suffering. What hurt even worse than that was the sense of injustice. Of unfairness.

He'd managed to hold himself together after the official notice had arrived. It wasn't until the personal missive had arrived from the family's head butler that he'd broken down. The details were laid clear; his brother, Francisque, had stabbed his father in the back with a long dagger.

For now, his father was alive. Whether that would last was… hard to say. He'd wanted to rush to his estates immediately when the official notice had arrived but both Kenneth and Wardes had advised leaving in the morning. If this were enemy action, the worst possible scenario, then this could be a two-fold trap. Taking out the military leaders and then assassinating their elite Knight Corps-in-Training would be a coup for whomever was responsible.

Of course, intellectually, he'd agreed. It was eminently sensible. Unfortunately, it had taken the combined efforts of Wardes, Kenneth and Saito to restrain him without hurting him and forcibly confine him to this room. When Montmorency had arrived he'd been so tense his fingernails had cut into the skin of his palms; they'd held him down and forced a potion down his throat.

… it had helped. His body had gone numb and his arms and legs had stopped tensing so much. Then the tears had come. She'd bandaged his hands as he sobbed and then clung to his side and supported him. He'd likely be grateful later. Right now all he could feel was a mixture of endless sorrow and pure hatred.

There had been a time when Guiche had thought he hated Mott for what he was. In truth, he'd felt a mixture of naked contempt and disgusted pity; because he'd seen in Mott a potential path that he could have followed in the future. Certainly he'd been angry at the man's actions, but this…

Between the fears for his father and the writhing agony at his own impotence Guiche found his mind consumed with thoughts of finding the person responsible for this and skewering them on his mother's sword. In his mind he could see a moment with crystal clarity; some shadowy figure begging for mercy at his feet as he pulled his arm back and just _thrust_. There was never any resistance, of course.

It disgusted him to think this way. Yet it made him feel better on some level. Even while the woman he loved comforted him, while his mentor travelled desperately towards the Capitol to fetch the most skilled healer that money could buy, while one of his closest friends suffered a similar agony only a few rooms over there was just one thing that he could think about

Whomever was responsible for this would _pay_.

* * *

It was difficult for Louise to think straight given the warm mass pressing into her back. To be fair; that was part of why she'd put herself into this situation in the first place. Nothing untoward had occurred, of course not, but the presence of the other person in her bed did provide a certain form of… comfort. A soft brown arm draped itself over her as Zerb-... _Kirche_ snuggled closer in her sleep.

Louise was many things. Impulsive, yes. Occasionally thoughtless. Studious yet standoffish. None of the myriad of traits that could be applied to her, however, made her stupid. Nor did they make her unobservant. She'd picked up on Kirche's changes in behaviour some time ago and, after a modicum of denial, had eventually connected them to the kinds of behaviour one would expect in a lovestruck teen.

After paying a visit to the library, and eventually asking Saito to collect some books she was too embarrassed to check out herself, she'd discovered a variety of literature on the subject that varied from the historical to the risque. Apparently it wasn't entirely an unknown phenomenon; nor entirely frowned upon, as such. Brimiric traditions had little to nothing to say on the subject, although the Church itself seemed to frown upon it.

She sighed and gently lifted Kirche's arm; sliding out of the larger girl's embrace a moment later. There was a fluffy gown for her to pull on nearby that had been sourced by her inestimable familiar. He'd been… helpful. Jean-Jacques had given her Miss Longueville's old room to make use of given… the situation. He'd also offered to fly her to her estates in the morning.

Her face hurt. She slipped out of the room, leaving Kirche to grope blindly in her sleep at the empty space, and headed outside. The chapter house had a second floor for the actual rooms meant for the officers. There was a balcony that looked out over the courtyard that she found her way on to; leaning against the balustrade and staring off towards the moonlight.

There was a quiet movement behind her; deliberately audible, she was sure. Louise had no idea how long she'd been standing there. Clearly long enough. A pale young man wearing a red coat slipped in beside her and offered a steaming mug of hot tea.

"Can't sleep either, Saito?" She smirked at him and took the cup. One sniff told her that it was her favourite flavour. Of course it was. His expression didn't change at her attempt to tease him. Because of course it didn't.

"I felt you might need something, my lady." It was hard not to sigh. Even now he still held himself at arm's length. After everything that had happened… she couldn't help but drift into her memories for a moment. Weeks of effort, training, exercise and practice. Maybe she couldn't cast properly, even now, but she could certainly blast a practice dummy into splinters.

"Saito… did you have… I mean… have you ever…?" There was a long moment of silence as he stared into the distance with her. She kept glancing over at his face as if hoping to catch some change in expression.

"You oughtn't be so cruel to Miss Zerbst, my lady." The new direction promptly crashed her carriage of thought. Was she be cruel? That was… difficult. Certainly she didn't have feelings for Kirche like… _that_. Of course not. That would be madness. Surely Kirche knew that? And yet…

It had been nice. In its own way. Safe. Jean-Jacques had tried to comfort her but she'd just felt awkward with him. When it was Kirche she didn't feel… uneasy. Maybe it was just because they were both women? That, and… well, for as much as she'd derided them in the past she did have to admit that resting on the taller girl's chest was rather comfortable.

"She said you and Kenneth had spoken to her about the cultures in your homeworld. Apparently it's more... normal there." The explanation she'd given had been nervous and joking but Louise had been able to read between the lines. It was like a confession without the actual confession, in a way. Saito remained silent for some time before responding. She sipped her tea as she waited.

"In the Jensani culture of the Western Azekara there are usually anywhere from three to five mature women for every male. So it is reasonably common there. Otherwise; most cultures do not have any particular problem with it." He shrugged. "I've never had much cause to be concerned about those things." Louise watched him quietly as he watched the moon in the distance.

"Saito… how do you feel about me?" This time she could almost see him stiffening. Really, though, it was the opposite; she could see him noticeably _relax_ as he fought not to betray any of his feelings.

"You are my liege. I am beholden to you, my lady, and will serve you unto my end." The pink-haired girl pouted at him and leaned in closer. He didn't move; merely standing awkwardly in place as she used him as a support. Moving would mean letting her fall over and clearly he was unwilling to do so.

"You know that's not what I meant." Her expression softened somewhat as she sighed. "Hold me." His mouth opened to protest the impropriety of it and she scowled up at him again. "It's cold! And that's an order." With a resigned expression, Saito put an arm around Louise and held her to his chest. Together they watched the stars for a time. Finally, he broke the silence.

"There was no reason for you to be kind to me. Nor to use me as anything other than a tool. When I was hurt you showed concern for me. You put your own autonomy at risk in order to help me when Siesta was… waylaid." Louie flushed. Enlisting the help of Jean-Jacques hadn't been that costly, really. More a matter of phrasing her pleas in the right way. They were already…

"My mother likes you. If I asked her she'd certainly allow you to marry Siesta." For the first time she got a genuine reaction out of him; laughter. A dry, amused chuckle that was rather charming, she felt. "What? I thought you were smitten with her." Saito shook his head.

"No, my lady. She is… family. Of a sort. We are not closely related, but it would be… inappropriate." Ah, yes. She did vaguely recall him saying something to that effect in the past. Hmph. Well, he certainly deserved something for his loyalty, surely.

"Well, I'll certainly speak to mother about it when we see her. I'm sure a suitable wife could be found. Wouldn't you want to be-" Strong arms curled around her and braced her hands against the mug. They'd been trembling. She hadn't even noticed.

"... Louise…" His voice was quiet in her ear. He felt unreasonably warm where he was pressed against her back. Her legs felt like they could barely hold her. "Your mother will be fine." Streaks of heat poured down her face. It hurt. So much. One trembling hand pulled away from the drink, from him, and tried to wipe her face. Stupid girl… it had taken Kirche hours to get her to stop.

Saito wiped her tears with a soft handkerchief, and rested his chin atop her head. She'd never noticed quite how tall he was; compared to her, at least. The warmth of his body suffused her and the ache in her chest lessened slightly. He tucked away the kerchief and moved to gently stroke her hair. Had anyone happened upon them they might have jumped to all sorts of conclusions… but Louise didn't care right now.

"I _will_ protect you, Louise, and your family; with all that I am. And should I fail… I swear that no force shall be able to keep those who have hurt you from feeling my wrath." The last sentence fell with all the weight of a divine proclamation. Not a threat… just a calm statement backed up by a towering wave of hatred. It implicitly carried within it the sense of an ocean of blood about to be spilled.

She felt better, even so. Her trembling hand moved up to rest on his arm where it crossed her body. Louise leaned back into her familiar and stared at the lights in the sky.

"Will you stay with me?"

"... forever, my lady."


	26. Bronze and Responsibility

Guiche's shoulder slammed into the chest of the older Knght and knocked him back. Before the man had even hit the ground the young man had spun and swung his sword at the two behind him that were duelling with his Valkyries. The blade sliced through the ground effortlessly and dragged a thick chunk of dirt out with it as the Earth spell was channelled through it. Both constructs dodged out of the way with practiced ease as the ball began to animate mid-flight.

It struck the leftmost Knght's shield as he tried to ward it off and practically exploded over him; the earth forming into coils that bound and pulled tight. With two valkyries backing him up it was the work of a moment to disarm the final fighter; even without using his superior equipment. He could have just sliced through the other man's armour if he had to but Kenneth said it was bad to rely on that.

"Good work, lad. Ye can take a rest for now." Said dwarf stepped into the courtyard and tossed a wet towel to his charge. Guiche took it, wiping his face as he moved away. His familiar started to unbind the Knghts while issuing the usual apologies. The young Gramont kept walking.

They'd been at the estate for almost a week now. A squad of Griffon Knights had been stationed here at the request of Viscount Wardes; who had resumed command of the group temporarily given the unfortunate demise of his successor turned predecessor. He'd been one of the unlucky ones.

He'd made great strides in these few days. Kenneth had admitted as much; albeit usually followed quickly by a sharp but and some sort of reprimand. It was starting to grow wearisome. Practice was important, and Wardes had said it was fine for the Knghts to assist him. He hadn't hurt any of them. Even if he had, there was a healer on the premises. It wasn't like she was doing anything use-...

Guiche frowned, and reined in the sharp thoughts. Healer Dumas was doing her best. He knew that. It's just that there was little to be done. His father's condition wasn't worsening, much, but nor was it improving. The same went for Francisque. They were disturbingly similar, in fact.

His brother just sat in the room they'd secured him in. At first he'd been locked in one of the cellars but that had quickly proved unnecessary. Since… what had happened he hadn't said a word. Barely even moved. The servants had to feed him. He just stared into space and trembled whenever Guiche tried to speak to him.

Father was worse. Armand had been losing weight quickly these past few days. They had to change his sheets every few hours due to the sweats and give him water almost constantly. The smell was ghastly. Miss Dumas said it was his body trying to fight off whatever poison had been on the knife; the sweat stank due to the impurities in his body being pushed out. Guiche wasn't sure if he believed that.

Kenneth had tried what he could but there wasn't much to be done. Toxins were hard no matter where you were, it seemed. The healing magic of Kelicho was almost miraculously powerful when it came to damage to flesh but, much like its Halkegenian counterpart, more or less useless with regards to unknown poisons.

He'd barely slept. When he wasn't fighting he was in the family's library pouring through the books. Guiche doubted he could identify the poison so simply as that but it felt better than doing… nothing. Kenneth kept carrying him back to bed whenever he passed out, and was always badgering him to eat as well. He knew it was just the dwarf's way of tryng to help him, but even so…

By the fifth day he'd had enough.

"Kenneth. Collect my things; we're leaving. There's nothing I can do for my father here." The dwarf frowned but, for _once_ , didn't question him. What few belongings he had were divided between the Knights' griffons and then he himself saddled up behind one. Healer Dumas was left with instructions to send for anything she needed; money was, clearly, no object.

Kenneth himself would travel overland. He wouldn't give up his tombstone and it was too heavy for a griffon to manage. With his endurance they'd arrive at much the same time regardless. The first step was the Undine Knights' Chapter House and, from there, the Capitol. There was work to be done.

* * *

Karin Désirée de la Vallière née Maillart… was dying. Two of her daughters weren't in much of a better state. Éléonore had been catatonic since the attack and Cattelya had suffered a fit from the stress of it all. The various apothecaries and healers had all said that if it weren't for her father's quick thinking then her mother would certainly be dead.

Unfortunately, Louse's father wasn't a properly trained healer himself. He was a Water Mage, yes, but affairs of state had left him far less practiced than his wife when it came to magic. Even now he remained somewhere between inconsolable and an emotional rock. When she'd arrived he'd pulled her into his arms and told her everything was going to be alright. That mother had survived worse than this.

He'd been shaking as he said it, though; and his eyes were very red. It didn't help that there was precious little for them to do. Mother's friends had materialised in droves; strange angry people with harsh expressions that seemed to get on very well with Saito. He'd taken to organising those without some sort of medical talent and they'd filled the grounds to the point where there was someone watching every window and door and corridor.

Then, much to her surprise, someone far more prestigious had arrived; Princess Henrietta, with the Royal Physician in two. Her childhood friend had held her close and they'd stayed together for a time. Louise had dared to let herself hope in those few, familiar moments. Apparently the Queen had ordered her to attend to the Duchess directly.

News was grim. Karin had been shot from point-blank range with a pistol that had been loaded rather haphazardly. Rather than a proper musket ball it had been filled with a handful of random metallic detritus of varying kinds; while this _would_ ruin the weapon it had the effect of reducing Karin's lower body to something more closely resembling mince than flesh. It had been a wonder that her father had been able to keep her alive at all.

Louise forced herself to listen to the explanation; no matter how awful it might be. Saito stood silently behind her, to one side, and the Princess hugged her arm and hid her face; unable to bear the brutality of what was being described to them. She didn't blame her old friend. If it hadn't been for her father's ashen expression she didn't know if she could have found the strength to listen herself.

Of course, it got worse from there. The scrap had been poisoned, or perhaps simply unclean, and thus the wound was now badly infected. Water magic enhanced the body's natural rhythms and improved its ability to heal; things like disease and toxins were far more difficult to deal with. The best that they could do right now was to treat the symptoms and keep her as strong as possible; all the while hoping that she could fight off the ailment herself.

Henrietta couldn't stay. She'd have to take part in meetings and such soon. When she left it had been with teary eyes and a heavy heart. As she went she'd left behind her ring; pushing it into Louise's hands and urging her to use it if she ever needed to visit. She'd promised her old friend she would, but her words felt hollow even to her.

Days passed in monotony. When no further attacks came mother's friends began to slip away. Perhaps to whatever they were doing before. Perhaps seeking justice for their comrade. She couldn't say, and Saito certainly wasn't talking. He stayed close to her at all times; attending to her every need even more diligently than usual. She'd scarcely think of something before he was already presenting it; be it a chair, a drink or an extra pillow.

Louise slept beside her mother's bed.

It was the fifth day when he visited; though it felt like an eternity. Jean-Jacques, the Viscount Wardes. Her fiancé. Her father ought to have met him, but he refused to leave his wife's side. She didn't want to either but somebody had to. Tragedy did not mean one couldn't act with dignity. Her mother would have wanted that.

"Viscount. To what do we owe this honour?"

* * *

"Are ye sure this is a good idea, lad?" It was the first time that Kenneth had spoken to him since their arrival in the Capitol. The little man had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, as of late. Guiche frowned as he straightened his cape and buffed his armour. In the mirror he could see his familiar's worried face beneath the mass of ginger hair that adorned it.

"No. But I refuse to be left out of this, Kenneth. I have my father's name and your experience to stand upon. That will have to do." The breastplate was actually only half-finished; it merely covered his front, not his back. Guiche had settled for wearing his mail shirt underneath; after all, they were both plenty light enough. With his mother's sword on his hip he looked like a proper knight.

The hat was Wardes', of course, but the cloak was his own this time; though the style may be similar he'd had it emblazoned with the insignia of the Undine Knights. In his mind he'd intended to wear it upon his graduation and, so, had commissioned it not long after joining the Knightly Order. That seemed so long ago no.

He couldn't help but turn the hat over in his hands. Thinking about the first time he'd ever really fought. Now he was walking straight into a far different, yet strangely similar, battle. Guiche put the hat on and surveyed himself in the silvered surface once more. The rose insignia on his chest glinted back at him.

"... ye look like a prop'r hero, lad." Kenneth smiled; in spite of himself, perhaps. Guiche didn't say anything. He just walked out of the room and left his familiar scrambling to catch up again. What did it matter if he looked like a hero? That wouldn't help him here.

They marched side-by-side through the streets of the city. This time their lodgings were of a far higher quality and, thus, were reasonably close to the palace. His status as a Knight Novitiate was enough to get him through the gates with minimal fuss and he soon found himself within the palace.

He was willing to wait for an hour. Two, even. But his patience soon wore thin after that and he barged his way past the guards. He could hear Kenneth making more apologies for him behind him and that only redoubled his resolve. Suddenly; two guards levelled muskets at him from the end of a corridor.

"Please return to the waiting room, sir. You aren't allowed in he-" The door behind them swung open and an old man in ill-fitting armour stepped out. His facial hair was unkempt and he looked rather haggard. Guiche vaguely recognised him; the soldiers certainly did given their quick salutes. "General Tréville, sir. This-" He waved a hand to cut them off, then looked to Guiche. The young man nodded his head.

"Hm. I know you. Armand's youngest, yes?" Guiche nodded, and the General stroked his ragged moustache. From his memories the young noble recalled the man before him had retired from duty some ten years ago. Not that his presence here was unusual. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, boy, but we've matters well in ha-" Before he could finish Guiche cut him off; perhaps it was rude but it was necessary.

"I've memorised all of my father's notes, and read all his journals. And my familiar-" At this, he gestured towards Kenneth where he stood beside him. The dwarf looked to be on the verge of charging the guards; which wasn't the best look, but still. "Is some three hundred years old, sir, and has seen harsh fighting in his time. Please. We can help." Tréville scratched at his chin with a frown. Then the door opened wider as a familiar figure appeared.

"Let him in, General." The Count de Mott spoke with authority and confidence, eyeing boy and dwarf with an appraising air. "I will vouch personally for his tactical prowess. Young Guiche bested me in duel over a… minor personal matter some weeks ago. I've no doubt he will have useful insights." Thusly presented with a politically expedient 'out', as it were, the General smiled and nodded.

"Very good. Well then, lad, if the Count is willing to vouch for you then I guess we'll give you a chance. _Founder knows we're short on brainpower in here…_ " He couldn't help but feel that last part ought to have been said a bit more quietly but as it stood Guiche wasn't going to complain. Instead, he followed the General into the room.

In the room beyond there was already nearly six hundred years worth of military experience. It would have perhaps been a bit better if it wasn't spread out between nearly twenty people. Apart from the Princess and the Queen there were a dozen people in varying ranks of military uniform, another half dozen in Knight's equipment, a handful of mere nobles, the Count de Mott and a Cardinal whose name Guiche didn't know. Currently the last of that listing was apparently arguing with half of the room.

"The Church cannot commit forces without _evidence_ of wrongdoing! There is a _delicate_ balance of power, and with preparations for the next Crusade already underwa-" The Cardinal was cut off by a stout man with thick sideburns. Guiche didn't quite recall his name but he vaguely knew of him from his father's parties as a child, and from the slew of interesting new words he and his brothers had learned while listening at the study door.

"Baldurdash! This is an _attack_ on our sovereignty, plain and simple! Who else could be responsible for this _but_ Germania, I ask you?" It took all of Guiche's strength not to collapse onto the table in shock. The next speaker didn't help matters; a young man with a weak chin and a nervous disposition.

"I say, Lord Dampierre is right. The rebels in Albion are still consolidating; there's no way they'd _dare_ to seek war with a foreign power as of yet." To Guiche's growing horror there seemed to be a modicum of support for this idiocy; as demonstrated by a variety of nods and cries of 'Hear hear' from one half of the table. Mott sidled up beside him and sighed heavily.

"I realise we are… not on kindly terms, young master Gramont. However, the situation is dire. These imbeciles will have us embroiled in entirely the wrong war if they have their way." Although he shot a reflexive scowl at the Count there wasn't much heart in it. In truth, he'd long since stopped caring about the man. Not that he intended to do anything so forward as _forgive_ him any time soon, of course.

"... quite." What else was there to say? Half the room, mostly consisting of the more elderly military officials and the Knights, seemed to be arguing for war against Germania at once. The Princess was sitting quietly as the Queen rested her face in her hand with what Guiche had to admit was certainly the utmost of grace and elegance. To her other side the remaining officials seemed to be split between wanting to declare war on Albion, Gallia and one lone, wild-eyed old coot who seemed to think they should be marching on the elves by next light.

Guiche clenched his fist. Beside him, Kenneth reached out for him and then pulled back with a pained expression. It was all just too much. While his father was writhing in agony the safety of Tristain fell to these… these… clowns! He wouldn't let them sully this nation any further!

Just as he stepped forward to slam his fist on the table there was an immensely loud 'bang'. Kenneth had slung his tombstone off his back and onto the floor; its wrappings swinging loose to reveal the inscriptions on its surface. Those assembled couldn't read them, not well at least, and yet the monument seemed to almost radiate a hallowed sensation.

"... 'pologies, Yer Majesty an' Highness. Ah just couldnae listen to another second of that tripe." Guiche's familiar stepped forward and bowed smartly to the Queen, who had looked up with a perplexed expression. "Kenneth Manson, Son of Man; back home they also call me Flamecutter, Mountain Rider, Dragon Drinker an' Tomb-Bearer. Ah also have the honour, an' the privilege, of bein' the Familiar of Guiche de Gramont, youngest son of General Armand de Gramont." Here, he gestured to his young charge and stepped to one side. All eyes were on Guiche; until the figure in the throne delicately cleared her throat.

"Do you wish to address us, Master Gramont?" The Queen's bearing and speech were both without flaw. She was regal and timeless, yet touched by just a hint of grief. Her black clothing was indicative of her ongoing mourning for her regrettably deceased husband. Some nobles would always whisper that she was unstable, erratic, or worse. In this moment she seemed nothing less than a true monarch.

"Yes, Your Majesty. With your permission?" She inclined her head ever so slightly. Once more, all gazes swung to Guiche. He stepped forward and bowed, as was right and proper, before beginning. "Gentiles all; I know many of those assembled here, by reputation at the very least. Although my honoured father is regrettably indisposed I stand before as an unworthy replacement."

A faint snort of derision indicated that someone agreed with his assessment. He ignored it, and soldiered on. "I have little experience in the art of war. However; what I do have is knowledge. My father's knowledge. These past few days I have spent memorising his personal notes and reading his journals, familiarising myself with his thoughts on our military and what might be done to defend our nation. With that in mind, there is something I must share with you that I feel he would say." Guiche took a moment to clear his throat and took a deep breath.

"Were my father here today he would undoubtedly speak louder than I. He would deride each and every one of you for your lollygagging and openly question when last any of you saw combat." Faces were turning red with outrage but he didn't give them the chance to interject. "I dare say that I have seen more fighting these past few months than many of you have in the past decade. As such, you have let your experiences, or lack thereof, blind you."

One portly mouth opened to provide a counterpoint only to be silenced by Guiche slamming a gauntleted fist down on the table. "Our enemy is _irrelevant_. It matters not _who_ has attacked us at this point; we merely need know we are under attack. Stores must be set in, musters arranged for, militias organised! Yet you sit here arguing about who we ought to declare upon?"

As he spoke, part of him sincerely hoped he wasn't overstepping the mark here. By the looks of embarrassment upon many faces, though, it seemed like they hadn't yet gotten to such matters. That was… not good, but at least not immediately detrimental to him. "You may not be the finest military minds of our Kingdom, but I know for a fact that some of the greatest logisticians my father has ever worked with are sitting at this table. No matter whom is responsible there are things that _must_ be done!"

There was a cavernous silence in the room. He was, of course, correct. However; there was much pride gathered in this room. The Queen stared at her military advisors but nobody seemed to be willing to take the first step. Until, that is, the Count de Mott stepped forward.

"If the good sirs can begin drafting the conscription plans and have Her Majesty approve them then I can begin deliveries within the hour?" Seeing a relatively senior noble act seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the others. General Tréville leaned forward.

"A central muster ought to do. Rapid response, that's the thing. Wide open space to run drills for the conscripts. Any ideas, Montbelliard ?" The portly man he spoke to looked pensive now instead of outraged. Yet more people leaned over the map laid out on the table and idea it.

"Plains of Tarbes, perhaps? Can land the fleet nearby, load up the better quality troops and be ready to respond in all directions. Set out the Aerial Corps along the border for some early warning?" This came from Dampierre , and his contribution shortly got the ball rolling. As logistical concerns were quickly raised and just as quickly solved the Count began to take notes and dispatch missives. Guiche stood there in shock at what he'd just done. It didn't feel real.

Suddenly silence fell. The Queen had cleared her throat, and was eyeing Guiche with a strange look. There was a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn't sure where it came from.

"It seems to me…" She began almost innocuously, with a faint smile on her face. "That we remain short on senior staff. Perhaps we require a more… personable face. Someone our new conscripts can trust, no?" Confusion was writ large on the faces of the assembled men; followed quickly by consternation as they realised what she was getting at. A dainty hand raised itself and forestalled any complaints.

"Of course, you gentlemen would be remain _in charge_ , as it were. I wouldn't dream of appointing anyone over the heads of my own high command. However… a Knight-Captain of one of our Orders can be considered of equal rank to a General, can he not?" The Queen looked to the assembled officers for confirmation which they reluctantly gave.

"It is an _equivalent_ rank only, Your Majesty." Said Dampierre , tentatively. "Traditionally, the Chivalric Orders do not give orders to the Army…?" She nodded, still with a faint smile on her face. "Besides which, all of the Orders already have a Knight-Captain appointed to them as of two days ago, with the return of Viscount Wardes to his old position…" The Queen's expression of amusement didn't fade, however.

"I think you will find, Louis, that there is one as of yet unaccounted for." The old man flushed when Her Majesty used his given name, and frowned slightly. Then the Queen stood and Guiche automatically dropped to one knee.

"Guiche de Gramont… I hereby appoint you to the position of Knight-Captain of the Chivalric Order of the Undine. Henceforth you shall act pursuant to the rights and obligations of your station." Guiche trembled slightly, but didn't dare to raise his head. The Queen continued regardless. "Furthermore, I charge you to travel to the plains of Tarbes to meet with our conscripted forces as they muster. Your task shall be to ensure good order and high morale amongst the troops, as well as overseeing the organisation and training of our conscripts. Do you accept this duty?"

It was entirely symbolic. He understood that; as did all those assembled. Whatever theoretical authority this granted him existed only so long as he didn't try to exercise it and would end with the state of war. His sole purpose was to be the charismatic face of the Army; someone that the common person would respond to better than the dried up old men or chinless buffoons that filled the room. Even so…

"I accept, Your Majesty." He looked up to see the Queen smiling down at him. She nodded thoughtfully.

"Very good. Then rise, Sir Gramont. You have much to do yet."

* * *

Louise stared at Wardes where he knelt before her, hand outstretched. Daintily; she reached out and took the thing. It sparkled under the light in a way that made her chest ache. All of this felt… so wrong. And yet…

"Louise… please. We are to go to war soon. With all that has happened… both our lines may end with us. Can we not seek some measure of happiness? Of continuity?" She looked into his earnest face, staring up at her below, and could only think of the ashen face of her father as he listened to the doctors. Could only think of the blank face of her sister, and the writhing of her mother in her bed. Louise swallowed hard.

"... very well, Jean-Jacques. I will marry you."


	27. Bronze and Catastrophe

Preparations were underway. Everything seemed to be happening so fast… Louise wasn't sure how this had come about. Jean-Jacques had answered her every little concern directly. They would use the main hall of the Vallière estate for the ceremony so that Cattelya could attend; her sister wasn't nearly well enough to travel but could easily make it into the hall at least. Louise had suggested bringing her mother down but some discussion with her father had ended that line of thought.

From there she'd expressed to him the desire to have at least some of her friends present. Not that she had all _that_ many. In the end she'd simply invited a handful of her fellow initiates; the ones she was closer to. Guiche had apparently been promoted to Knight-Captain, as if things couldn't get any more surreal, and would be unable to attend.

So her maids of honour were Siesta, Kirche and Tabitha; the former was practically Saito's sister, and the latter two were somewhat of a package deal. The Germanian girl had seemed in high spirits by the time she arrived at the estate; like as not she'd gotten her dismay and shock out of her system earlier.

A number of carts had arrived with various attendants who'd immediately set out to decorate the hall with the help of the Vallière's servants; under the watchful eye of their stern head maid. Wardes had also, it seemed, requested a small detachment of Knights to serve as the honour guard for the ceremony.

It was all very beautiful. There was, as it turned out, a dress already prepared. A dressmaker was called in to help adjust it to fit; apparently it had been with an older Louise in mind. She'd cried a little when her father showed her to it.

"I know it may seem a little pain, my darling child, but it was… well, it was _hers_ , you know. With Cattelya's illness and Éléonore... " He trailed off and shrugged with a wry smile. Yes, Louise could understand that. It was quite plain. Simple white fabric with delicate embroidery. She could just imagine her mother in it.

"... thank you, father. I love it." They'd hugged then, and it had lasted for some time. That excursion was the longest stretch of time he'd spent away from his wife's side in nearly a week. He didn't go back afterwards; perhaps for fear he might not be able to leave again. Instead he promised Louise that he'd tidy up properly for her big day.

Then, quite suddenly, it was upon them. She was sitting in her room with Kirche and Siesta carefully pinning up her hair. There was a tremble that she couldn't shake. Something about this all felt like… like… she couldn't explain it concisely, even to herself. It was like she could _feel_ something looming in the distance that she couldn't quite grasp.

"Are you sure about this, Zero?" Kirche nudged her from behind, staring at Louise's reflection with deep concern in her gaze. Perhaps more. The pink-haired girl closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Thinking about _that_ would do her no good.

"He is a good man, Zerbst. This has been my destiny for a long time. Now we stand on the brink of open war, and both of us may well end up fighting. I'd rather not die with…" She let the last word die on her lips. Behind her the larger girl shifted uncomfortably. Yet, she didn't say anything. Louise didn't open her eyes until she was sure that she could stomach whatever expression Kirche had on her.

It was, as it turned out, a smile. Perhaps a little weak, even a trifle forced, but a smile nonetheless. When Louise smiled in return they were a matching pair. Siesta was very pointedly looking away from both of them and had turned _bright_ red. Poor girl was probably very confused right now.

Then, just like that, she was at the altar. There was music playing and the room was… not full, exactly, but at least occupied. Her family, such as was able, were sitting on chairs along with the servants. They were family too, in their own way; she'd grown up amongst most of those faces. Eight Knights in burnished surcoats drew their swords with steely rasps as the far doors opened.

There he was. Her fiancé. She'd dreamed about this day when she was a much younger girl and had no comprehension of what it meant to be engaged. In her dreams he'd always looked this way. Jean-Jacques wasn't wearing the hat but he had the rest of the outfit on; blue cape and brilliantly silver breastplate, a gift from Guiche's familiar, complementing his distinguished grey hair and elegantly manicured beard.

She could feel her heart skip a beat; as if she was a little girl again. And yet… even as he walked down the aisle with a beatific expression she felt off. Louise glanced to the side where Saito stood; they'd got him into most of a suit but he adamantly refused to give up the red cloak. If she'd ordered him perhaps he might have but for some reason she hadn't. Wardes had asked the commoner to serve as his best man; a terrible breach of propriety that had nevertheless been touching in its way.

He was smiling too. It was bizarre; the expression didn't suit him at all. Saito looked far better, she thought, when he was looking serious, or concerned. She felt a phantom warmth against her back and flushed beneath the veil. Why would she think of _that_ at a time lke this?

Wardes alighted the steps before the altar and came to a halt beside her. The workmen had done a marvellous job assembling the little stage here, and with everything else besides. As the Priest invoked the blessings of the Founder and the five powers she almost felt like maybe, just maybe, this might work out.

"I, Viscount Jean-Jacques de Wardes do solemnly vow to take Louise de la Vallière as my lawfully wedded wife." He looked down at her as he spoke and looked just so… happy. It made her chest hurt. "For all of my days shall I watch over her, guide her, and shield her from all pain and sorrow in this life. By the Founder, this I swear." Now it was his turn.

They were all looking at her. Kirche and Siesta to her right. Saito to her left. Her father and Cattelya; the latter leaning against the former for support and both smiling up at her. Almost everyone here was so happy to see this come about. Especially him. Especially Wardes. Louise felt dizzy. She felt ill. She felt…

… unhappy.

"I… I…" Her voice nearly cracked as she tried to speak. She had to take a moment to still her heart and steel her nerves before continuing. "Jean-Jacques… no… Viscount Wardes." He still looked down at her but his expression had solidified somewhat. "You're... kind, and noble, and you've done _so much_ for me." Louise reached out and took his hands in hers, grasping them tightly.

He didn't squeeze back. His hands were practically limp in her grip. "Even so… even here and now, after all this, I just don't… I mean… that is to say… I…" She sighed and turned away, releasing him. Wardes' arms fell limply to his sides.

"You will not marry me." His voice was soft, and it wasn't a question. She glanced back and he had a sort of smile on his face. It was the kind of smile she'd seen plenty of times before; worn by someone good-natured who suddenly found themselves the butt of a nasty joke. Slowly, Louise shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Yet, to her surprise, Wardes just laughed. It was a quiet, regretful chuckle. "I see… I just couldn't see it through to the end, could I?" One hand raised up and stroked her cheek. Softly, tenderly. Then it pulled away. "I understand, Louise. You're an honest girl, and you can't lie to yourself. It really is too bad." He laughed again and looked to the ceiling. She felt a hot flush coming on; wrought of shame and sorrow both.

"It really is too bad."

Wardes turned around and drew his sword-wand in a single smooth motion; unleashing a bolt of lightning that struck Saito directly in the shoulder, mid-dodge, and sent the young man spinning backwards into the wall.

Someone screamed as, all around them, chaos broke loose.

* * *

An unlikely trio sat on a hillside overlooking a wide field filled with tents and soldiers. Young men were getting outfitted from wagons full of weapons and basic armour, then being divided up into groups for training. A number of veteran soldiers had been seconded from the Capitol in order to oversee the organisation of the muster.

The youngest of the three sighed deeply and resumed her task; carefully buffing a rather fine shield until it shined. Beside her a squat man with thick beard hair stroked at his matted red locks. Both of them were watching a figure in a blue cape and hat strolling amongst the troops below. They all seemed somewhat in awe of him.

"... I do worry greatly about him, Kenneth. He hasn't spoken at all of what happened since…" Montmorency sighed again and scraped rather more vigorously at a spot of grime on the surface of the shield. She'd volunteered to join the camp as part of her apprenticeship to a more senior healer. Under her ministrations Derflinger sighed happily but was otherwise not his usual lewd self. It was understandable; he was, for all of his misbehaviour, rather fond of Guiche.

"It's all beyond me, girl." The animate shield spoke in a tone that sounded like it would be shrugging if it had shoulders. "I've had a lot of partners over the years. Lost a lot of 'em, too. Doesn't seem to hit me as hard as it does you lot." Even so, a certain melancholy seemed to have overcome him. Beside them Kenneth remained silent. He was leaned up against his tomb marker, pressed deep into the earth as it was, and idly turning a stone bead around in his hands.

"Ah'm not so sure what t'do here, lass." Finally he spoke, after much deliberation. Down on the plain Guiche had stepped on top of a box of supplies and was giving an impassioned speech to the assembled conscripts. The dwarf frowned as he saw the men cheering. "He's hurtin' bad, an' that'll lead 'im down a bad way. Ah'm worried that some o' these folks might die afore he can snap out of it…"

That was really the issue. Guiche de Gramont had been charismatic from the start; it had been what had made Kenneth want to help him. The boy had noble goals at the start but now, in this position, he felt… dangerous. Of course, he couldn't actually give orders to the soldiers. That much filled Kenneth with a sense of relief. But even so…

Another cheer resounded as Guiche struck a pose with his sword pointed into the distance. A cheer that quite suddenly died without any warning. The dwarf looked up and his face fell moments later. He hauled himself to his feet and yanked his tablet from its resting place. Montmorency gasped quietly.

"Oh no…" The girl covered her mouth with her hands as she watched the fleet of airships descending from the clouds in the distance. There were dozens of them. All around the fleet green lights dropped from the sky and began to streak ahead of the main group. Kenneth cursed in every tongue he could manage, and then some.

"Girl!" His sudden burst of coherency startled Montmorency, but not nearly as much as him grabbing her and hauling her to her feet. "Evacuate the town! Flee directly away from the ships! Every civilian left behind is just another enemy!" She tried to ask what he meant but the dwarf pushed her in the direction of the village. "Go, **now!** " He roared the last line as he snatched up the fallen shield, ignoring its complaints and demands for explanations.

Kenneth launched himself off the hill with a sudden burst of earth beneath his feet and hit the ground mere paces away from his charge. A slam of a foot caused the ground to buckle once more and forced him to rise into the air. Even as the various officers were trying to restore order and organise a resistance all eyes were suddenly on him.

"Listen up! Forget the ships, 'cause like as not we willnae survive to deal with whatever may be on 'em. **Those** are our enemy!" He pointed towards the green lights heading towards them and those assembled could see his hand trembling. "If ah'm right, and ye'd best pray ah'm not, then all Hell 's about t'break loose. If any of ye survive then ah'll gladly call ye my brothers after this. Now listen good!"

Any question of leadership or chain of command had long since died; all present listened fervently to Kenneth as he outlined their only hope of living through the day.

* * *

He'd called them 'Wights'. They were animated by a magic from his world that melded the element of Fire with something corrupt and tainted. The result was referred to as 'Banefire'; Kenneth had said that it burned both soul and flesh as one. Their only hope for victory would be to bring down the flying creatures before they reached them and then destroy their bodies from a distance with magic.

Fire would be more or less useless so that negated a full quarter of their mage support then and there. Anyone with Earth capabilities, including him and his familiar, had been set to build walls and ramps. One of the more solid sergeants had called for anyone who could use a bow, anyone at all, and set about arming them.

The remaining soldiers were getting anything that could hold any amount of water and all of the remaining mages were setting about filling it. They might well drain the town's well for this but it might prove vital to their fight. Guiche had _never_ seen Kenneth afraid before. A runner had been sent with three horses; he'd ride at a gallop and swap as soon as the one he was on got too tired. It might well kill two of the animals for only a slight increase in speed but his familiar had seemed to think it was worth it.

Guiche was afraid too. He did his best not to show it as he moved earth around and called out encouragement to the men. Currently his best effort seemed to be extolling the virtues of his familiar at length; whether or not the conscripts believed him was immaterial to the fact that they visibly relaxed under the constant barrage of praise for the dwarf. Perhaps it was because they couldn't tell how upset their supposed savior was.

In a way they'd been saved by the weather. If it had been more cloudy the airships could well have gotten closer to them before having to emerge. The Wights as well seemed slower than living dragons; else they'd have been upon them by now. As it was they were growing rapidly larger, yes, but they'd had a good fifteen minutes of frantic preparation thus far and might still have some time yet.

If nothing else, at least Montmorency would be safe. Kenneth had sent her to the town first thing to evacuate the villagers and Guiche was very grateful for that. He'd found himself wishing that she hadn't followed him out here; then she wouldn't be in danger now.

"They're nearly here, Kenneth." The young noble had paused to finally strap his shield on; he felt a little bad about that. As of late he'd been somewhat neglecting what really ought to be one of his greatest assets.

"Aye. Listen, lad… ah dinnae know if Derflinger can protect ye here. Don't engage unless ye have to… understand?" On his arm the animate shield huffed loudly… but didn't disagree. If that fire worked like Kenneth said then magical or not it might well pose a risk to whatever it was that empowered him. That was a sobering thought.

"... hm? Eh, partner; someone's calling for ya." Guiche looked up and saw two soldiers at the edge of the freshly-built fortifications holding a frantically shouting man at bay. They seemed to be trying to talk to him but he just kept shouting past them and paying them no mind at all. The cries just barely reached them.

"...rd Gramo…" It seemed that Derf was correct. Guiche stood and did his best to stride as majestically as possible but with a faint awareness that perhaps it wasn't the best time for theatrics. The man didn't get much calmer as he approached. "I'm telling you, I _must_ speak with Lord Gramont at once! I can help, I swear it!"[/i]

"Look, all the villagers have been told to evacuate. We appreciate you want to help us but there's nothing you can do." The soldier holding the man's left arm was trying his best to push the fellow back but without much success. Even with two of them they were barely checking his progress; surprising, given he was actually noticeably shorter than them.

"That's enough, men." They let go and the peasant stumbled forward; collapsing on to his knees. Guiche knelt and offered him a hand. "I am Guiche de Gramont, good sir. And the men are right… you really ought to be evacu-" After hearing his name the man looked up with an expression of utter relief. Moments later he grasped at Guiche's arm and hauled himself upright, but didn't let go.

"No, you must _listen_. I am Jeima of Tarbes, Siesta is my daughter! She told me you are a truly noble soul, your honour, and so I have come to you now!" Guiche sighed. While he was touched by this display of loyalty it really wasn't the time for it. "Sir, _please!_ I break a vow most solemn and ancient to tell you thi-" That was enough. He pulled the man's arm free and stared him down.

" _Sir_ , we are about to be engaged in a battle for our very lives and your being here will only endanger us! You, you and you! Help these two and get him _away_ from here!" The five men all grabbed at the smaller Jeima and together they finally managed to start dragging him away. Even then he still tried to call out.

"No! Sir, please! Lord Gramont! _My grandfather was not of this world!_ There is something he left behind that may help!" That brought Guiche up cold. He spun on his heel and sprinted over to the five; bodily pulling them away from the little man.

"You will explain at once. What do you mean not of this world?" There was a spark lit in Guiche's heart. His mother's sword had been made by Kenneth's wife and fallen through from that world into this one. Who knew what else might have come the same way? For the first time hope was filling him.

"I know little more, my lord, save this; even in his dotage my grandfather was hale and hearty. He only passed at last when fighting a wandering beast to protect my mother. Father told me that he'd sealed away many things that he'd brought with him to this world, things of unimaginable power!" That spark had just become a raging inferno, buoying Guiche up once more.

"He told me that someone would come for them one day, and that we should only give them unto that person. There was a… a passphrase, you see, and more besides… but I fear that if we do not go now then my family's legacy may well die with the village. I would have done it myself, sir, but you need magic to open the way... " And that settled it. Guiche drew himself up and looked to Kenneth, who nodded at him. Then he turned back to the soldiers and struck his most heroic smile.

"You five, follow me. I have reason to believe what this man says may well be our salvation. Kenneth…" He saluted his familiar, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Please be here when I return. That is all I ask." The dwarf returned the gesture, and then suddenly lunged forward to hug Guiche around the waist.

"Ah'm not th' sort to make promises ah can't keep, lad. Off with ye. If this is what ah think it is then ye'll definitely save us." Kenneth broke off and then turned at once to leave. Guiche mirrored him; marching smartly away so quickly that Jeima had to break into a jog to catch up. Behind him he could hear Kenneth beginning to bark out orders.

A minute later they just crossed through the village and were heading towards an abandoned well in an outer field when the screaming began far behind them. Jeima said nothing, but silently redoubled his pace.

Guiche followed behind, and didn't look back.


	28. Bronze and Mortality

Saito had crumpled into a heap against the wall and was unmoving. Her father had frozen mid-rise when the watching workmen around the sides had pulled crossbows out from beneath flower wreaths and behind wall-hangings. Had this been Wardes' plan from the very beginning?

The Knights that had come with him had turned their swords toward the few guests and seemed ready to attack if need be. Wardes had grabbed her arm, holding it tightly, and pointed his sword-wand at her maids; Kirche had also frozen with wand already in hand. Where had she been hiding it? Louise didn't understand why her mind was grasping at tiny things like that, instead of...

"Jean-Jacques… you…" Her chest ached. Why? _Why?_ He was a traitor? She didn't understand it. And yet… He wouldn't look at her; just pointing his weapon at the girls still. It had become a stalemate in a matter of moments; her father was at least skilled enough to take this many men but not with his ill daughter right beside him. She didn't _have_ a wand on her; it was supposed to be her wedding day!

"You'll never get away with this, Viscount!" Kirche's cry would have seemed more melodramatic if it weren't for the note of fear in her voice. Wardes didn't respond to her; he merely yanked Louise closer and caught her by the waist. Ordinarily the thing to do would be to struggle and beat her fists against him, most likely to no avail, but she was painfully aware of the weapons aimed at her sister. "We've two more mages than you, and there's no way you'll hurt Louise!"

"Shut up." The tip of his sword-wand pointed to her and his grip on Louise tightened. "Stay where you are, and nobody else needs to get hurt, Germanian. My wife and I are leaving." The words stung far more than they should have as he took a step towards the hall's rear door. Without even thinking about it she began to pull against him until he squeezed again. "Don't struggle, Louise; think of your family. All of them."

The way he spoke brought her up cold. There was her father and sister in here, but… she met her father's gaze and his expression had turned both dark and fearful. "That's right. I've a man with your wife, Duke. Any undue commotion and he'll slit her throat. So you just wait quietly and we'll be on our way." He continued to haul her towards the door; she didn't actively resist but nor was she willing to walk along with him just like that.

Something felt wrong. Her eyes flickered to the wall and traced a shape that she felt should be there. Yet… something was… her head felt almost fuzzy and yet her mind was still perfectly clear. More like something just at the edge of recollection…

"Forgetting someone?" Saito stood between them and the door. Two of the men had aimed at him instead of her father; she saw him shift subtly to place himself between Cattleya and the remainder when he noticed the potential opening. Wardes had gone very stiff behind her and his sword-wand waved erratically between her maids and familiar.

"Don't you care about the Duchess' life?" Even if the young man looked in a bad way, his clothing scorched and what skin she could see blackened by the lightning impact, he was still standing in their way. That was clearly making Jean-Jacques uneasy. Saito shook his head slowly; not taking his eyes off them.

"I serve Louise. She is my sole concern. Release her." His expression twisted into a hateful snarl and for a moment Louise thought she saw his teeth coming to a point. " **Now.** " There was a moment when something horrifying washed over her; an instant of fear that shot straight into the darkest reaches of her mind and left her with a brutal certainty that she was about to die. This feeling seemed to be indiscriminate as Wardes tensed up and a number of people gasped in horror.

Louise was in the perfect position to see Saito's eyes widen as a 'twang' sounded behind her.

* * *

The soldiers were afraid. There wasn't much of a way to alleviate their fear; the sheer level of preparations were enough to terrify anyone. There were more than a dozen heavy barrels full of water spread throughout the fortifications and more, smaller, vessels besides those. Water Mages were standing by but Kenneth felt they didn't have enough of those.

He'd said all he could at this point. They'd have to shoot for the wings; even if they were magically flying undead monstrosities they still needed those to _some_ degree. Then things became really difficult. With what time they'd had he had attempted to impart some basic strategies to dealing with Wights but he wasn't sure how well it would take. All that remained now was to see it through.

The first one came streaking low, green fire bubbling out of its maw and trailing from its eye sockets, and opened wide to let loose a gout of unholy flames. With ease borne of practice the Mages assigned to the barrels pulled up a sheet of water to catch it mid-ar; with striking results. When the green blaze met the liquid it exploded in a horrific imitation of a suddenly-doused grease fire.

Simultaneously, dozens of men loosed arrows at the creature. Many of these were destroyed by the conflagration but some made it through. Those that hit scales either deflected neatly or penetrated shallowly; the creature was not inconvenienced by either. Just as it was about to peel off for another run a spike of stone slammed into its chest from the front; launched by the only Triangle Earth Mage they had.

 **"** **GET BACK!"** Kenneth's roar carried over the ragged cheer that went up as the thing's momentum was checked by the shot; it spun out of the air and dug a deep rent in the ground as it crashed. The thing pulled itself upwards and then, suddenly, the surface bulged outwards. There was a moment when green light shone from between all of its scales and then…

The blast radiated outwards and caught a good dozen men in it. Kenneth reacted as best he could; one, still screaming, got a crossbow bolt in the back of the head. Another dropped into the earth as he stomped on it and willed the ground to crush the body into a fine red paste before the flames could take hold. Then one of the screaming men suddenly stopped. They stood and turned to stare at Kenneth with fire pouring out of their eyes.

He didn't curse. Around the man more of those caught in the explosion rose. Above them there were further detonations as the Dragonwights flew overhead and breathed flames towards the mass of soldiers. There was screaming to one side where a blast got through. Kenneth didn't look away. His crossbow clicked onto the hood at his waist and the haft of his axe fell smoothly into his grip as he advanced towards the freshly-made Wights.

One charged him; he sidestepped and kicked out to knock it off balance then swung; bisecting the thing left shoulder to right. His hand wrenched upwards and clenched just in time to cause the ground to rise up and swallow the two halves before there was a dull 'thud' of the remains exploding. There was no respite; two more charged him with burning hands outstretched.

One was slammed backwards as he swung his slab off his back, smashing it into the Wight in the process, and grasped the iron rings along the back. Despite its significance to him it definitely wasn't the _first_ and, given it was a very convenient shield, wouldn't be the last. The meaning was in the names on the stone and he knew all of those by heart.

The second one leapt for him as the fire burning under skin grew suddenly brighter. Kenneth slammed his foot, and shield, down at the same time; causing the earth to sink in a small semicircle around him; exactly the width of his slab where it had been pressed into the ground. Green flame streamed around the edges of his makeshift shield as the thing detonated itself in an attempt to bring him down. He'd expected that much.

What he hadn't expected was a toothy maw to snap down on either side of the slab right as the inferno abated and yank it out of his hand. Kenneth saw it sail away into the middle distance, probably to land on some unfortunate soldier, as the Dragonwight turned its head back to him.

It lunged, Banefire licking between its teeth, and Kenneth punched out. His fist met it on the lower jaw and knocked the head away; he could _feel_ the unholy fires scorch the ground behind him. They weren't hot, as such; but it was an unmistakeable sensation. The dwarf vaulted out of his hole and circled around. There was a flash of metal as he removed one of its hind limbs on the way past.

In response the draconic beast spun in the opposite direction; he ducked a swinging tail and then dropped all the way down to his back and kicked out as a tingle through his toes warned him of the leaping Wight behind him. His feet caught it in the chest as it fell and launched it skywards where it exploded into a ball of green fire. Kenneth slammed his elbows down and shoved himself to his feet only to be faced with a mouth full of teeth coming straight for him.

His axe flashed out even as it went to close its teeth; the blade passing smoothly through the skull and flesh with a faint hiss. The edge glowed green for a moment before the metal rejected the unholy fire. Kenneth took a moment to calm his wild heartbeat and survey the surroundings.

The situation wasn't great. As per his instructions the Earth Mages were burying Wights beneath torrents of dirt; but the things were working on clawing their way out already. Meanwhile the Water Mages were trying to protect against the remaining dragons. When water met Banefire it was like trying to put out an oil fire… but at least it prevented the flames from landing.

He began to move in the direction his slab had been flung; it would still be valuable if it hadn't cracked. Skill at arms alone wasn't nearly enough to survive an encounter like this. He unslung his crossbow and cocked it as he jogged; eyeing the combat. They must have lost a quarter of their men already.

Ahead there were a group of three Wights assaulting two spearmen; they were doing their best to repel the dead, but it was hard to hold off a creature that didn't care about injuries. Green fire surged out of the hands of one and it grasped at the wooden shaft of the weapon impaled in its stomach. In moments the wood had rotted down the haft; blackened bits collapsing as the Wight launched itself forward and embraced the soldier.

It let go a moment later as the body slumped in its grip, then turned its head to face Kenneth. He lowered his crossbow and then clicked it back onto the hook at his belt. The shot had taken the young man right in the eye and gone into his brain; quick and painless death. They could only make more Wights if the fire killed its victim directly.

"C'mon, ye bastards!" The three started walking his way slowly; two splitting off and moving left and right. They left the second soldier behind and he scrambled away in terror. Kenneth didn't blame him. These men may well have been friends or comrades… seeing the green fire burning out of their eyes would unnerve one even if that wasn't the case.

All three charged at once. He dashed for one and swung down; neatly bisecting them skull to midriff and kicking them in the stomach to launch the body back before it could detonate. The earth beneath him shifted to give him more leverage as he twisted himself to the side and kicked out; a spike of earth impaling the charging Wight through the neck.

The last one leapt for him as he brought his axe around the other way. Its left hand shot towards his axe and even though it cleaved straight through flesh and bone the impact deflected it just slightly. Kenneth swung with his own left as the flaming right hand reached for his face only for it to jerk downwards and suddenly grasp his fist.

In front of him the Wight's eyes exploded into brightness as green fires surged down its arm and covered Kenneth's hand.

* * *

Saito was faced with a choice. He had merely an instant to decide which way he was going to launch himself. Even as he tensed his muscles and leaned forward his eyes locked with Louise's and he could see the slowly dawning horror as what was happening began to reach her. Inwardly he cursed himself and his softness.

Outwardly he pushed off the ground with all of his might and exploded across the room. Around him the stalemate devolved into madness. One of the men had reacted to his threat in the worst possible way; firing their crossbow. The Duke was paralysed with indecision and wouldn't react in time. To his right the Zerbst girl began to swing her arm with the words of a spell on her lips. As he passed Wardes the man was slowly lifting his implement in turn.

He sailed through the air, hand reaching out, as the distance between him and the flying bolt decreased far more rapidly, and yet also far more slowly, than he wanted. It was nearing level with his path now and he was just passing the halfway mark. His arm stretched to its maximum length as he reached for the power burned into his skin. It wouldn't arrive in time; his hesitation had cost him that.

Less than a metre away from the Duke and Louise's sister his fingertips made contact with the fletching on the bolt as it passed in front of him. Its course deviated only a few thumb-widths at most; flying otherwise straight and true right into the ill girl's chest. Saito's dive carried him forward into a roll that brought him up within arm's reach of one of the armoured soldiers; a hand shot out and he struck the man on the chest with an open palm. The armour crunched as it dented inwards and the occupant was flung backwards.

Wardes cried out a name as he turned and as his rotation completed he saw Tabitha move. A blade of ice formed on the wand that slid out of her cuff as soon as it met her hand and she jabbed it through Kirche's side before twisting and releasing the spell. Frost exploded upwards and coated the girl's arm as she coughed blood with a look of utmost shock. The traitor swung his wand at the wall and released a cone of fire and rushing air that blasted a hole in the wall.

Even as he broke into a sprint the Duke clutched his collapsing daughter behind him. Wardes hauled Louise off her feet and over his shoulder as he began to run for the hole in the wall. A spray of frigid air was flung at him by Tabitha while she moved to intercept; playing interference for her handler. In response his left arm glowed red and fire burst forth from his palm; half the light of his tattoo disappeared in the blink of an eye as he negated the icy wind only to drop to the ground a moment later so he could avoid the hail of stones that came in their wake.

Wardes was ten steps from the hole in the wall and casting another spell as he ran. Louise beat her fists against his back in vain and was crying out. Formless anger buoyed him up as he slammed his palms down and forced himself upright in an instant. A powerful kick caught the flagstones and launched them in a spray of rock at his fellow assassin; but she'd already moved to the side and had flung the altar at him on a gust of wind.

He vaulted it and then kicked out in mid-air; a solid surface forming beneath his sole for just long enough that he could go flying up and over Tabitha. Her next shot, a thin icy spear, caught him in the thigh as he hurtled towards the fleeing groom. Wardes completed his spell mere instants before contact and his figure stretched out rapidly as the acceleration magic took effect. For the merest fraction of a second Saito closed his eyes.

Louise was outside. Wardes had her, and was capable of flight. His griffon would be nearby. The primary goal had already succeeded; in the time it took him to grab a weapon and use the enhanced speed to catch up with them the traitor would have escaped. Secondary goal would be neutralisation of the Duke and himself; as well as Tabitha's escape.

Jeirazh opened his eyes. They glowed as he turned his head and surveyed the room. Two wounded, Kirche and Cattleya, with one otherwise incapacitated, the Duke. Five armoured hostiles, twelve unarmoured with crossbows, one already fired. He exhaled heavily and then breathed in deeply as the eleven still armed with loaded weapons readjusted their aim.

The nearest one didn't have time to react before he shattered their arm at the elbow and tore the weapon from them. As soon as his hands closed around the trigger he disappeared from view. Blood exploded from the men around the perimeter of the room one by one within the space of a few seconds; the last three managed to pull the trigger only for their bolts to be yanked out of the air as soon as they'd left the crossbow. He'd jammed them into their eye sockets.

From his perspective, Jeirazh moved calmly towards the first of five Knights; at a run, of course, but without the incredible franticness that had accentuated his earlier movements. Behind him, Tabitha was putting together her next spell. He ignored her. His hand slammed into the first man's helm and he immediately began to apply pressure; only stopping to fling the dead body sideways as soon as his fingers met each other again.

Four of the five still standing died the same way; blood exploding from their helmets as they suddenly became a third of the size followed by their corpses being promptly tossed aside. The only survivor amongst the honour guard, the very first Knight who was struggling to breathe through cracked ribs and a crushed armour plate, got to watch a hand emerge from the back of his last remaining compatriot; one clutching something small and red that it unceremoniously crushed.

Jeirazh pulled his arm from the chest of the last standing Knight and then turned to face Tabitha. She'd frozen in place, wand in hand, and was staring at him as he stood there; blood dripping from his fingertips and loaded crossbow lazily held in his off hand. Up until he'd put his hands on the weapon he knew that she'd been able to follow and react to his movements. Now, though… he'd killed sixteen men in the last two, maybe three, seconds. The lone man who'd discharged his weapon already and the one he'd first struck were still the only two left alive.

"One word, Charlotte. It's all I'm giving you." He began to walk towards her as all killing intent flowed out of him. A smile appeared on his face as he approached her while radiating an aura of total peace and openness. She tensed and relaxed and tensed again as the paradox that he displayed took her already taut nerves and messily tore them asunder. There was no malice in his steps, no intent to hurt her in his eyes, nothing but holes in the way he held his body and yet… in her heart, she could feel her death approaching.

An arm's length away he stopped and reached out for her while she trembled in place. There had been a spell prepared but her wand had fallen from her fingers at some point. Jeirazh reached for her; still smiling beatifically as his fingers gently grasped at her neck. The words she might have said were all frozen in her throat. Finally, she forced one out.

"... family." He didn't freeze. It wasn't shock, or even surprise. The calmness merely flowed out of him to be replaced by an endless, towering fury. His grip tightened on her neck but she wasn't choking yet. They locked gazes for what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than a few seconds. Then Jeirazh sighed.

"My debt is paid." His fist sank into the flesh of her stomach and she doubled over; all air escaping her lungs. A moment later the edge of his palm met the back of her head and she collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor. He took a few seconds to breathe deeply; closing his eyes once more.

When Saito them again the glow had ceased; both from his iris and skin. He moved over to Kirche and checked her for a pulse; it was still there. The Duke had recovered admirably from the fountains of blood forming around him and was already applying first aid to Cattleya. If he hadn't gone for the bolt then it would have certainly penetrated his heart. Even so, he already regretted his choice.

It was too late for that. He'd become Saito de la Vallière for various reasons; ranging from the selfish to the pragmatic. In spite of all of that, however, he'd still sworn to protect Louise. But he'd lost his edge. Sentiment and foolishness had clouded his judgement. He should have killed Tabitha as soon as he uncovered her identity. He _should_ have slit Wardes' throat in his sleep as soon as he'd discovered the man's split loyalties.

But he hadn't. For personal reasons. For _stupid_ reasons. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake twice. Tabitha would go to the Queen's dungeons, and Wardes would die without ever seeing his face again. He _would_ follow them, he _would_ find her and if anyone, or anything, dared to stand in his way…

He turned on his heel and strode towards the last enemy standing. The man had stains running down his legs and tears in his eyes; as Saito approached the unloaded crossbow dropped from his hands and he began to try and stammer something inconsequential. A moment later he was lifted bodily off the ground by the front of his shirt and slammed against the wall.

"Tell me everything you know right now and I'll kill you instantly. But if I so much as suspect dishonesty from you I'll make sure you take a whole minute to die." The man quivered in terror as Saito held him against the stone. "And if you think that doesn't sound too bad then clearly **_you weren't paying attention._** "

* * *

Wardes leapt into the air as soon as he'd gotten outside, a levitation spell carrying him upwards as he whistled for his steed. It had shot past them mere seconds later and he'd caught the saddle with one hand as it did so; the sudden acceleration had threatened to make Louise throw up. Now she laid across his saddle as he trussed her up as best he could with strips torn from her dress.

She still struggled, but there wasn't much force to it. Soon he had her bound fully and, after a particularly vigorous set of curses she'd acquired secondhand from Kenneth by the medium of Zerbst he finally decided to gag her as well. All she could do then was fume in silence.

Her hands were currently bound behind her but she knew that wouldn't last. As unpleasant a situation as this seemed Louise knew she had one major advantage that Wardes didn't know about. Even she hadn't known about it until he'd dumped her across his saddle. Yet, even as they flew further and further from safety and her family, she praised her wonderful, horribly paranoid familiar.

The ride wouldn't be especially pleasant with the sheath of the concealed dagger he'd somehow secreted in the front of her dress poking into her stomach… but Louise would endure until the bitter end.


	29. Bronze and Retribution

The tunnel was dark and cold and horribly cramped. It had also been hidden in the town's _well_ , of all things. There'd been an iron grating that Jeima had yanked off with surprisingly little difficulty and they'd had to climb down the chain to find the entrance; something Guiche had certainly not enjoyed but had managed to stop himself from complaining about given the urgency of the situation.

"And why, pray, could I not have simply opened a way through the ground to this path?" It felt like a pertinent question to ask while they slogged through the mud and grime coating the walls; tiny man with dim torch leading the way. But his guide had simply shot him a glance and spoken with a tone as chilling as any of Saito's.

"It would have been unwise."

And Guiche got no further explanation on the matter. He had decided he no longer wanted it. Their path was sloping downwards, curving slightly as it did, and the young nobleman found himself increasingly concerned with how far they were going. If this mysterious place was to help them then they had to reach it sooner rather than later. His impatience built and built until, at last, he could tolerate no more.

"I'm sorry, Jeima, but we don't have _time!_ " He grabbed the smaller man, lifted him into the air, albeit with a surprising amount of effort, and flicked out his wand. A Valkyrie's front chest plate formed in front of them and he stepped on to it. Then he pointed behind them. "Hold on, my good man! This… is probably going to hurt. A lot."

Guiche stacked Water; tearing it out of the mildew and slime on the walls and ceiling. It swept them up as he dropped to his knees and held the commoner tightly to his chest. The growing wave picked them up and launched them down the tunnel at a breakneck pace.

It didn't take them long to spill out into a larger chamber and skid into the centre while rank water flooded in behind them. Jeima squirmed out of Guiche's grasp and began to cough while the noble allowed himself to collapse on to his back. That had not been one of his better ideas. In retrospect, he _probably_ should have applied his Bronze Flesh spell.

"This…" Jeima finished hacking out a bit of truly disgusting liquid and wiped his face. "This is it. I've only been here once. You need magic of some kind to open the doorway." Which was… ah… Guiche frowned, looking around. As far as he could see the only door in this bizarre chamber was the entrance they'd come on through.

It was a rounded chamber with a dull orange light permeating it. For a moment he'd forgotten that their torch had been doused. Then he actually looked at the crystalline objects shining in the braziers around the room and his heart froze in his chest. They were _Firestones_.

"My father said that if you failed to open the lock on the first try they would explode." Although the little man's tone was conversational there was a note of fear to his voice. Guiche looked around a bit more and frowned. He still couldn't even see the _door_ , let alone the lock. "You're standing on it, by the way."

He blinked and then looked down. There it was. Guiche had to stare at it for several seconds before he realised what he was seeing. Really, he should have noticed that the water was draining. Under their feet was a stone grate and beneath that a series of horizontal, interlocking stone rods. They had sections cut out of them and fine engravings all across them.

"... a puzzle lock. By the Founder, could this be any more of a waste of time?" He looked at the braziers, then at the grating. Guiche drew his mother's sword and stacked a lone Earth as he tapped the ground; frowning as he felt the feedback from his magic. He couldn't see how it fit together, although he could see where to start. All he'd need to do was slide that one, then that one, and then that one. It was _easy_. But why? How did it _work?_

Jeima stood there and watched helplessly as Guiche paced. The man had no more of an idea than he did. Something about this felt wrong. Every time he moved to start he stopped and tapped the grating again; magic flowing through the rock as he examined it. It _was_ easy. The only thing it would do is take up his time. Why?

A long path to reach it… a simple but time-consuming puzzle lock… it seemed to fit, but he couldn't say why he was hesitating. Until he suddenly slapped himself about the head and walked over to the nearest brazier.

"Hey, Derf? Can you do something about this?" His shield rolled its… cleared its… well, it animated itself in an exasperated way as he held it up to the Firestone on the wall. Guiche felt a little bad for a moment given his tendency to ignore the shield for significant periods as of late.

"... yes. I can. Nice of you to remember me, partner." He patted the shield as it pouted for a moment and then sighed. "Well, you know you can rely on me. Let's do this." Guiche smiled faintly and pressed his shield to the gem. It flickered for a few moments before sputtering out. He channelled Fire for a moment and a wisp of reddish white gathered on the tip of his sword as he drained the remaining Firestones.

Then he stacked dual Earths and swung down on the stone grate; shattering it and tearing a hole through the puzzle lock directly into the chamber below. Jeima stared with undisguised shock and, shortly, revulsion.

"I think that was cheating…" He looked almost pouty, but Guiche just walked over to the hole he'd made. There were stairs underneath it. When he dropped down and held his light up he found that, as he had suspected, there was no evidence of moving parts. Another trick.

"Something dangerous hidden by something innocuous… then danger clearly presented with a straightforward path to safety. Setting up the expectation and then tearing it down." Guiche chuckled and looked up at Jeima. "The puzzle was the trap; brute force was the solution. My precautions were pointless, it seems. But if I'd tried to force my way into this chamber I suspect I'd have been taught to expect the opposite. Reminds me of a friend of mine!" He chuckled faintly in spite of himself, then shook his head. "Come along, good sir. We must hurry."

The small man dropped down after him and together they began to walk the damp steps into the darkness. As they did so Guiche couldn't help but frown. This was already taking too long, but he couldn't act incautiously. Even so, the desire to rush was palpable.

He just hoped that Kenneth was okay.

* * *

Green fire danced across Kenneth's gloved hand and down his arm. The leather turned black as it half-burnt, half-rotted away. If it were possible for a transgression against all that was good and righteous to look smug then the Wight was certainly attempting it. Something, however, seemed wrong. The flames had stopped at the elbow and seemed to have run out of anything else to burn.

Then a silver spike punched its way through the creature's palm. Ethereal light shone forth and took shape; coming into being as blue glass that flickered and shifted as if it were fire. Spikes of it burst out of the creature's arm and wherever it took form the sickly green flames sputtered out and died. In a moment all of the unholy energies were overtaken and the glass-like substance replaced it. Then it faded.

The spike retracted and the now empty corpse collapsed. Kenneth shook off the remnants of his glove and examined his left hand for a moment. He flexed it as best he could, silvery metal shining in the sunlight as gears whirred and joints clicked. Then he turned it so his palm faced him and eyed the aperture in the base of the metal. A metallic spike extended again; tiny runes glowing faintly blue.

"Hmf. Two, three… maybe four." It retracted again as he sighed and hefted his axe; starting to jog towards the next set of Wights. There were two more Ether Spikes contained inside his prosthetic and each would work for _maybe_ ten shots each if he aligned them well and hit closer to the core of the magic. He'd probably need to burn half of one for each dragon; assuming the metal could pierce the scales.

Well, come what may he'd hold until the end... and save as many as he could.

* * *

The Duke breathed a sigh of relief as the wound on Cattleya's chest finally closed. Her breathing was somewhat laboured but she would survive. If it hadn't been for the heroic leap of Louise's familiar… he shook his head to dispel the thought. As he did so a horrific memory suddenly dredged itself up and he leapt to his feet. Across the room Saito glanced up from where he appeared to be carefully melting the frost on the Zerbst's daughter's arm.

"He was bluffing." His voice cut across the room but barely managed to scratch the ice that had filled the Duke's vein. Saito didn't look up from his careful work as a pale blue light began to shine from his other hand. The water pouring off the ice spike was caught against his hand and began to gather into a sphere as he carefully melted and extracted it. "All of the men he brought are in this room."

Or what remained of them, at least. He couldn't help but glance over to where the last crossbowman was slumped on the floor. The contents of his skull had been spread across the wall above him; as soon as he'd got the answers he wanted Saito had crushed his skull in one hand like it was an overripe grape.

Karin had told him that the boy was a diligent and efficient servant with a reasonably useful skill set. Now it seemed he was a powerful and talented killer who, it so happened, had access to bizarre yet undeniably effective magic. It made his head swim. The young man had saved Cattleya, but at the cost of Louise being taken.

"I'm sorry, Duke. This was my fault." Golden light poured between the young man's fingertips and into the girl's wound. It sealed itself up again from the inside out; muscle and sinew reknitting into healthy flesh once more. " _Sentiment._ **Foolishness**. I've grown **_soft_**." As he said that he stood and strode through the bloody carnage that he'd left in his wake. The lone remaining soldier was still desperately trying to pry his dented breastplate off between laboured breaths.

"You… you knew?" Saito stood, walking over to the Duke and Cattelya. His eyes began to shine again as he looked at her with a frown. Then he crouched beside her. The Duke moved aside for a moment as the young man stretched forth his hand and poured out more golden light; it seemed to be flowing out from under his sleeve. _What_ was he?

"In a manner of speaking. I knew that Wardes was part of a group plotting against the Crown of Tristain, but I had no interest in his plans." That… how long had he known this? Why hadn't he acted against them? "Since your family is descended from the royalty of this country I assumed he intended to use Louise to legitimise his movement. This was outside of my predictions." It took all the Duke had not to strike the young man; made easier by having to remind himself the boy was currently working on healing his daughter.

"That's treason you're talking about, boy. Why wouldn't you say something?" The outpour of golden light ended and Cattelya seemed to be breathing easier. As soon as Saito moved out of the way, remaining silent as he did, the Duke shifted back into place. He quickly made to check on the state of his daughter's injuries with diagnostic magic; only to find, to his shock, that the internal wounds were significantly reduced. It was to the point where she may as well have been jabbed with a knitting needle rather than shot with a crossbow bolt.

"I'll speak it plain, Duke, and only the once." He looked up into Saito's cold, determined expression as the young man placed a foot on the face of the final survivor. The situation made him want to speak out but that face sealed the words in his throat. "I do not care about this country." Beneath his foot the pitiful begging turned to cries of pain. "I do not care about its people." There was a faint cracking sound, and blood began to drip down the poor mercenary's face.

"And I do not care about your _laws_." There was a crunch as the pressure being exerted by the foot overcame the resistance of the skull beneath it. Both Duke and boy were silent as they regarded each other; one with disinterest, the other with growing concern. Then the young man's face softened. "However… I do care about Louise. And yet my sentiment spared Wardes because she cared for him. I allowed him to take her because I chose to save her sister. No more. I _will_ get her back." Saito ground the remains of the soldier's skull beneath his boot. The Duke shuddered; less at that then at the young man's parting words.

"I have no mercy left for them."

* * *

There had been more traps. Guiche had sent his Valkyries ahead after the first near-miss and hadn't regretted it. Whoever had built this _disturbingly extensive_ structure had a truly incredible understanding of the human psyche. Every time he allowed himself to suspect that they had triggered the last trap his Valkyries tripped another one.

Each and every one was precise and deadly. Mostly consisting of pointed stone pillars dropping from the ceiling in such a way that it would instantly kill whoever trod on the trapped step. Followed by a portion of the stairs _around_ the trigger collapsing into a pit. How many years had this taken? It was clear there was an immense degree of paranoia and effort poured into this…

The only word he could use was 'Temple'. His wand-light illuminated painstakingly carved murals on the walls that made him feel uncomfortable. Jeima kept a respectable distance from them and Guiche alike; this entire place seemed to fill him with an awe that bordered on reverence.

At last, after what seemed like hours but had likely been mere minutes, they came out into another open space. Even with magic this must have taken years of painstaking work to complete. In contrast to what they'd had thus far the final chamber was rather simple. There was a carved bier in the middle of the room with what looked remarkably like a stone coffin laid atop it.

"Is this it?" Jeima nodded and stepped forward, clearing his throat. When he spoke it was with an exotic tone and a bizarre intonation as he formed words in no language that Guiche could recognise. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow as he spoke with increasing nervousness. Seeing as the little man seemed to know what he was doing Guiche allowed him to continue.

"That _should_ be enou-" The darkness _moved_. It poured like ink into the circle of light as it formed blades and tendrils and _mouths_ and Guiche very nearly soiled his britches as it flung itself across the room at him. Derf cried out and the shadow blades passed through his dwarven mail like it was no more than paper.

He barely managed to cut through the razor sharp limb before it reached something significant; the smoky substance immediately dissolving as the thing briefly recoiled. To Guiche's abject surprise it formed a vaguely humanoid shape just outside the circle of light that he was still casting and even without eyes he could feel the raw hate that it was directing at him.

 _"_ _How easily our_ _ **pact**_ _is broken, son of my son. How easily is family betrayed!_ It leapt at Jeima this time and Guiche had to exert himself to the full in order to interpose himself at time. To his immense relief Derf was able to block the spear of shadow that became the entity's arm as it reached out for what he could only imagine was the tiny, quivering man's throat. Jeima tried to babble _something_ in his foreign tongue but the monster didn't seem to hear him. That, or it just wasn't interested in listening.

 _"_ _What did they_ _ **promise**_ _you, that you would cast aside_ _ **all**_ _that I fought for? I did not_ _ **bind my soul**_ _to the very_ _ **bones**_ _of this haven so that you could cast aside your heritage for_ _ **coin!**_ _"_ There wasn't much time for Guiche to muse on these revelations before the shadow-man struck out at him once more.

The way it attacked him was, apart from the constant transformation, eerily familiar. It pressed the assault constantly and utterly refused to give him a moment to breathe. Every motion was fluid and murderously efficient. Even when he managed to focus enough to stack two Earths and create a sudden explosion of spikes between him and it the entity seemed to effortlessly cross between the threats to pursue him.

His only real advantage was, ironically, the hate that it felt. It was predictable in its deadliness; every strike aiming for an instant kill and giving him a gradual advantage. Even that, however, felt strangely mundane to him. Which was why he _wasn't_ surprised when an attack was suddenly launched at his leg instead.

Several things clicked together for Guiche at that moment. This wasn't an enemy he could afford defeat. Every second he delayed people died and if he kept this up long enough to figure out a strategy for actual victory he might well be one of those people. In this moment, he had to be decisive.

Guiche tossed his sword aside and stood his ground as the enraged monstrosity leapt for the kill.

* * *

The battlefield had become no less than a blighted wasteland. Normal soldiers served no purpose save to give the monsters more fodder to spread through, Even the mages were proving ineffective at actually killing the Wights. Kenneth was down to his last Ether Spike now; there were still two Dragonwights and dozens of Human Wights left.

All in all the situation was looking dire. He was confident in his ability to survive regardless; but not in his ability to do so without sacrificing most of the people left alive. Through all of it there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. Why hadn't the ships moved up yet?

This attack could have taken then all the way into Tristain. Ruined the country in one foul swoop. So why hadn't they? He ducked a tongue of green fire as it issued from a Dragonwight and punched it in the lower jaw; cutting off the stream. His axe ripped out a good portion of its throat and the unholy flames poured forth to liberally coat the point he'd been standing in a moment earlier.

No sign of his shield yet… he was too turned around. A detonation to the side claimed three more soldiers and created three more enemy combatants. Kenneth yanked on his connection to the earth, felt it shift and flow as he sank one down to the knees and, a moment later, bisected it. The Wights had started fleeing from him towards other soldiers; moving in different directions to delay him even further.

At this rate he'd win the battle and lose the entire camp. They were acting with increasing intelligence and tactical insight. Someone had to be overseeing them and passing on direct orders. For a moment he had a horrible thought; that perhaps the King of Banefire himself had been summoned to this world. But, no… with the strength of magic here such an entity would not have remained unknown for so long.

His relief was short-lived as a Dragonwight took to the sky and Kenneth stared with increasing horror into the sky. There was nothing he could do, no way to save the poor _idiots_ who had come with the intent to save _them_. A flight of Dragon Knights was inbound, already gathering flaming projectiles and trumpeting their arrival. Kenneth saw them much as the Wights did; Enemy reinforcements in the making.

* * *

Then the wind changed.

The dead hesitated.

Something gnawed at the fire that raged where their souls used to be.

They felt the faint stirrings of a feeling that had been burned out of them.

 _Fear._

* * *

Atop the nearby hill stood a figure cloaked in white light.

It hung from their shoulders and spread out behind them; merging into the night sky and forming a shining aurora in hues of whites. Everyone had gone still; even the oncoming Dragon Knights and the many Wights littering the battlefield.

The radiance that bathed across them was bliss. It sank into them, to their very bones, and carried with it a biting chill that somehow still felt like a soft embrace. Every pulse of that icy light brought with it relief; from weariness and fatigue, from pain and fear, from _all_ suffering. As the figure descended the hill the nearest Wights began to openly weep tears of green fire.

Immersed in that frigid glow the nearest Wight fell to its knees; reaching out with countless emotions _literally_ burned into its features. Anger. Regret. Loss. _Hope._ And more besides. Its saviour drew a white blade and dragged it along the luminescent mantle that it bore. The weapon took on the frozen glow itself and then plunged directly through the heart of the Wight.

Green fire poured from its eyes as the pale energies suffused it. For a moment the monster almost seemed to smile as the shine in its eyes changed colour; its cracked and burnt lips mouthed words that none could hear before the light left it and returned into the shimmering mass at the back of its redeemer.

The corpse's own weight caused it to slide backwards off the blade and strike the ground with a deafeningly quiet 'thump'.

Guiche de Gramont gathered Moonlight to his blade once more and looked to the nearest Wight as its eyes suddenly surged; utter hatred for life overcoming the strange bliss that had, for a time, stilled its hands. He smiled with a faint tinge of regret as it began to charge him. Above, in the middle distance, the Dragonwight turned on its wing and started towards him.

A moment later a spike trailing blue light ripped through the air with the sound of burning glass shattering and struck the creature in the chest. Azure energy tore apart the animating Banefire and sent it crashing to the ground. Guiche spared a moment to glance over at his familiar and return the dwarf's proud salute.

Then he set to work.

* * *

"You're certain of this, Tif? Lotta people are going to die if we go through with this." A red-headed young woman shouldered a musket and stared down at the city of Londinium with evident distaste. The red banner of the Reconquista flew proudly above it and the fires on the plain before the city burned high with the wealth of the city's nobles. There were gallows and crosses erected too; well-occupied by the former ruling caste of Albion.

Those that hadn't been willing to join up, that is.

For all of the girl's apparent softness, in multiple meanings of the word, Agnes had learned something about the half-elven girl she'd been living with these past few weeks. She had learned that Tiffania had an almost boundless capacity for compassion, forgiveness and love. However, she had also learned that the word 'almost' was, as it turned out, _very_ important.

" _We're_ sure." Tiffania set herself as best she could in the unfamiliar outfit. Armour, even leather, didn't suit her at all but Agnes had insisted upon it. She looked to her side at the two cloaked figures for reassurance. "They're hurting innocent people, someone needs to stop it, and there's nobody else but us."

"That's right. This is _our_ home, and we will defend it." Matilda pushed back her cloak and smiled down at her little sister; clearly proud and yet torn at the same time. Thus far, Agnes didn't particularly trust the woman but since Tif had vouched for she had to be alright. Besides… the help she'd brought along was certainly welcome.

Not that she thought poorly of their chances, mind. After all, they had… well… Agnes glanced back at the titanic white wolf sitting calmly at the treeline as it regarded their task with its usual, dispassionate gaze. Normally she'd think herself mad for ascribing any emotions to the thing at all but considering all she'd seen these past few weeks…

Stretched out behind it was their army. Such as it was. Quite possibly every dog in the whole of Albion and more besides. Birds by the hundred were perched in the trees; utterly still as they awaited the command of the sovereign of beasts that sat in their midst. Adding to that Matilda's golem spells and their fourth member… the Reconquista wouldn't know what hit them.

"Ah… it's been so long since I've been to a _proper_ battle. Thank you for finding me Miss Longue-... ah, _Matilda_. I do appreciate it." Old Osmond stepped forward with a rather vicious grin on his face. There was an air of restrained power about him that made Agnes feel a tad self-conscious. "Particularly now that I know who is _ultimately_ responsible for stealing from _my Academy._ Shall we?" A tremor passed through the assembled animals as their god finally stood.

The First Wolf howled.


	30. Bronze and Counteroffensives

"Protect your own!"

Guiche barely managed to get across the accusatory cry before the shadow monster was upon him. Rather than being met by rending claws he was hauled bodily off his feet by a tight grasp on his chin and shortly thereafter was faced with a pair of glowing red eyes meeting his own in a hateful glare.

 _"_ _What did you_ _ **say**_ _to me,_ _ **boy?**_ _You know not what words you speak!"_ It raised a bladed shadow tendril, presumably to give Guiche the very shortest haircut of his life, when a flying rock struck it in the side of what he could only assume was its head. Across the room Jeima cowered slightly; bits of fallen masonry in hand and prepared to throw.

"He saved my daughter, grandfather. From a fate worse than death." The shadow monster hesitated; confusion wrought across its features. After a moment it let go of the young noble's neck and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Then the creature _changed_ ; shrinking and distorting until it formed a small, distraught looking man whose features were much the same as Jeima's.

 _"_ _But why, child? Why bring him here? This is_ _ **your**_ _legacy. I left it for you, your siblings, your cousins, your parents. Why bring this_ _ **outsider**_ _, no matter his merits?"_ Guiche could only stare in shock as the thing spoke. It truly was Jeima's grandfather. He couldn't still be _alive_ , or else he'd have come out to help the village. So, somehow, he had managed to linger here after his death. It was impossible for Guiche to prevent his gaze from moving to the stone coffin in the middle of the room at that thought.

"... it's gone, grandfather." Jeima spoke hesitantly and mournfully; every word causing tremors of sorrow to pass across his ancestor's face. "After you died, we couldn't make any more Runes. The ones we had already worked but… you know they don't last on objects, and we never…" His grandfather nodded slowly. Regret was writ large upon him; in the hunch of his shoulders and the twitching of his lip.

 _"_ _Of course. I had hoped… I had thought… it had seemed to work, but…"_ He sighed heavily and frowned suddenly; looking to Guiche and Jeima in turn. _"_ _Why have you come? What has happened to my home?"_ Overcome by emotion, Jeima seemed unable to speak for the moment.

"Wights, good sir." At last he stood; pushing himself upright and pressing a hand to the bleeding wound on his shoulder. It didn't feel like it had hit anything important, at least. "My fami… my mentor is a warrior of your world. He is fighting them while we come here." The revenant's expression turned grave and he turned to the stone coffin behind him. It seemed to take no effort for him to cast off heavy lid and draw out the items enshrined within.

Guiche thought it may well be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was a black, silken, hooded mantle that seemed to faintly shine with an unearthly light. There were faint points of light upon it that didn't move when it did; like the cloth was a portal to another realm entirely. With great solemnity the wraith offered it to Guiche.

 _"_ _It is the_ _ **Aurora Requiem**_ _. An endless source of Moonlight. Unholy things cannot abide it. There is a cost, of sorts. It is… difficult to explain, and we are short on time. You must merely withstand for as long as you can."_ Then it looked to Jeima and spoke some of the unfamiliar language that they shared. There was a moment of hesitant silence between him and then the shadow fused back into the walls.

Jeima turned to leave immediately; Guiche having to practically jog to keep up as he did so. For his stature the little man was very fast. In the end he pulled off a handy trick he'd figured out after examining Kenneth and Colbert's various bizarre machine designs; summoning half a Valkyrie. Specifically, the lower body formed around his own.

"What did he tell you?" With the animated legs moving with him he was able to keep up with Jeima and ask about the ancestor's cryptic last words. The little man looked at him and finally checked his pace as they reached the opening to the upper level.

Then he made a two meter standing jump to grab the ledge and haul himself up. Guiche was gobsmacked for only a few moments before quickly stacking his Earths and transmuting a stairway for himself. It was good to be reminded that these people weren't entirely normal.

"It's the words to activate the item. You'll need to memorise the phrasing. We can practice on the way up." Jeima was waiting for him; clenching and unclenching his fists. The encounter had seemed to have an effect on him; Guiche suspected that there had been more passing between them at the end.

"Very well. Thank you for your assistance. We'd best hurry."

* * *

Emotion mattered as much as content it seemed, because he'd been told what the phrase _meant_ as well as memorising the pronunciation. His efforts to learn Kenneth's language, fruitless as they had been, had paid dividends here with his ability to pronounce the bizarre syllables that even gave Jeima pause. They weren't from his native language either, although he had refused to elaborate.

Guiche had stood on the hill overlooking the battle and steeled his heart as best he could. When he said the words the mantle had begun to tremble on his back. Points of light had grown and burst forth in a wave of chilling luminescence that had left tears pouring down his face.

Moonlight was the Light of Memory, after all. All of the pain of the past few weeks magnified, every unsaid word and lost moment between him and his father and his brother dredged up and burned into the forefront of his mind. Every possible chance he had to change the outcome was thrown in his face and the anguish he felt burned as a cold fire in his heart, and on his back.

 _"_ _Ignite, my sorrows; burn, my regrets; shine, Aurora Requiem."_

* * *

The howl split the night sky and sent shivers down the spine of every man, woman and child in Londinium. Something about the sound spoke to the most primal part of them; that darkness behind the eyes comprised of every remnant survival instinct that had been needed to drag their distant ancestors safely into the next day. It told that tiny bit in no uncertain terms that the origin of that noise could _end_ them at its leisure.

There was another baleful cry following in the wake of the first as the clouds met the noise and _shifted_. Intent was carried to nature and it answered the desires of the caller. Vast and alien though it may be the power it wielded was curiously in tune with the forces of the world it had entered. Temperatures dropped sharply as winds picked up.

Within minutes a roaring gale slammed into the walls of the city with sufficient force to shake the stones and very nearly drive the rallying troops from the walls by strength alone. The aftermath was far weaker but it carried with it a biting chill that made it impossible to look over the walls. They tried nevertheless; well aware that _something_ was coming.

Whispers of dark things carried through the men. Of monsters, of _elves_ and worse besides. Many knew that patrols had been vanishing lately; disappearing down to the last man, horse and dog. This impossible weather pattern spoke to their growing dread and transformed it into frantic terror.

Outside, on the hill, Old Osmond watched with an expression of clear trepidation as the blizzard parted around them. Or to be more precise, and at this thought he glanced to his side at the titanic lupine creature standing beside them, it parted around the wolf. If he didn't know better he'd think the monstrosity looked almost _smug_.

Agnes had told him that it could control the weather, but he'd not really believed it. No lone creature could do such a thing, surely? Yet this 'wolf' seemed to be far more than a tremendous animal. It walked across the snow without leaving footprints, it commanded bird and beast alike to its bidding and now its howl summoned what would have been the worst Winter storm he'd ever seen… if only 'twere actually Winter.

"Well then, Headmaster. I'd say they're suitably distracted. Shall we get to work?" He looked over to Matilda and forced a smile. Even with this terrifying display there were still things for them to do. Although they could starve out the occupying forces that would kill the civilians too, and no matter the strength of the beast or its storm it couldn't breach the walls on its own. He and his former secretary unified their spells with careful coordination as they began to animate the earth beneath them.

Half an hour later, within the city, the few soldiers that could see cried out with terror as an almighty colossus rose into view; rising above the city walls in height and shaking the earth as it pulled itself to its feet. The winds parted for an instant as a stream of small, dark creatures poured through the storm. They were unhindered by the strong winds and that, in fact, was the only warning that they got. For an instant the awful winds stilled and then a feathered missile shot down to claw at exposed eyes and faces.

There was a tremendous rumble as the titan was finally completed and began its slow ponderous steps forward. Construction of two Square-class Earth Mages or not, such a thing would usually be a large and vulnerable target for magical bombardment; ineffective on an open battlefield and easily countered during a siege. However, any time the Reconquista's Officers tried to take the walls and target it a dozen murderous birds would appear out of the blizzard and swarm them.

It was bloody chaos.

Before long the earthen giant was close enough to the walls to demonstrate its true purpose. Rather than moving up and attacking them directly it merely collapsed forward; head smashing into the reinforced masonry and bursting open to deliver its cargo. Dogs streamed out by the dozen and more charged across the plain. Now that their construct had fallen it revealed the holes in the underside of its feet; tunnels that the canines could scramble up, following each other through the darkness, and exit through the head on to the walls.

They had many advantages. The animals hadn't just been battered by razor sharp wind and even sharper frozen hail for over half an hour. Even as they charged out the blizzard split and gave them a reasonable berth. Nor did they have to worry about being attacked on two fronts. Any soldier that tried to focus on the furry, biting horde was immediately blindsided by the feathered, clawing horde.

The rebels were already in full retreat when the First Wolf sprinted up the back of the collapsed giant and leapt into the city.

* * *

On the plain of Tarbes a rout in one direction was already being turned in the other. Guiche de Gramont flicked his mother's sword through the pearlescent light streaming off his shoulders and then contemptuously cut down at his opponent's blade. The green flames on its surface sputtered out as he cleaved straight through the metal and directly into their skull a moment later. White light surged down his sword and purged the hateful energies from the corpse in an instant. As with all the others it died with a bittersweet smile on what remained of its face.

Kenneth had taken down another Dragonwight with the strange glassy bolts that he appeared to be firing directly out of his hands and there was just one left. It seemed reluctant to take wing and was rampaging through the ranks of what men were still trying to fight; keeping them between it and the dwarf. His familiar was circling around and slowly driving it towards him; if the thing had noticed there seemed to be nothing it could do about it.

Suddenly the men parted way for him and there was nothing between Gucihe and the dragon. It _glared_ at him with undisguised hatred burning in its eyes. Quite literally, given the whispers he heard from the artifact on his back. Banefire was, at its core, the manifestation of one being's absolute loathing of life. It felt appropriate that he met it with the cold light of mercy.

The dragon breathed green fire; a tight spray that crossed the distance in moments. Guiche brandished his shield, shining with a white radiance, and Derf drank in the unholy magic. Throughout the battle he'd been cheering and crying with undisguised glee, crying out his appreciation for such a unique conflict. With the cloak protecting his back and the magic-devouring shield defending him from the front all remaining threat from the Wights had been erased.

Whatever the monster had been expecting to happen it clearly wasn't expecting Guiche to come charging through the spray of Banefire given that it recoiled for an instant when he emerged from the stream and handily removed its lower jaw. The stuff still made his skin crawl to come close to it but any that came too near was immediately wiped away by the waves of Moonlight rolling off his shoulders.

He ducked under the wild claw it swung at him and kept going; running between its forelimbs and taking a sharp left so he could spin around and cut through its right arm. Not for the last time in this battle he marvelled at the horrifying sharpness of his mother's blade; limited in its cutting potential only by how quickly he could swing. The trembling dragon collapsed onto its side a moment later and Guiche stabbed it in the side, released and then spun around in place.

Carbonised adamant was amazing at channeling… everything, really. Kenneth had made him a glove lined with some hard black substance so that he didn't die instantly when facing an Air Mage competent enough to use lightning. The trailing cloak of Moonlight had dragged itself across the blade and been sucked into it. There was a final tremble from the Dragonwight before, at last, the Banefire inside of it was overcome.

Guiche pulled his sword out and turned around to face utter silence. There was only one Wight left on the field but, as he watched, Kenneth removed its head and quickly shoved the body through the ground before it could detonate. Just like that… it was over.

They'd taken immense casualties. He couldn't tell how many at a glance but he knew it had to be in the hundreds. Probably more. Guiche had lost count of how many human Wights he had killed, Kenneth had taken out just as many, and even the soldiers had, by working with care and tandem, taken out about as much as either of them. Yet, for all that, so many had died…

The white light shining from his back finally died out as Guiche could no longer sustain the cost of keeping it active. Now that he was no longer surrounded by a nacreous corona it was plain to see that his face was stained with tears. Nobody dared to approach him; all the men milling about and casting fearful glances towards the still stationary airships on the horizon.

A heavy hand touched his shoulder and he looked up into the thickly bearded face of his familiar. Then he was enfolded in a warm hug that smelled only slightly of burnt pork. Guiche shook a little but didn't resist. He'd held on for as long as he had to but the _price_ of Aurora Requiem was quite a simple one. It wasn't even really a cost, as such. More like a hazard, really.

Every second it was active he was bombarded by memories. Vivid and clear in every detail. A constant, unceasing reminder of his failures as a friend, as a master, as a commander, as a brother, and as a son. He'd been crying from the moment it began to burn and even now the words rang in his ears.

"Ye did well, lad." Kenneth released him, and then gently patted him on the cheek. Then he drew a slightly stained cloth from one of his many pockets and offered it to the young man to wipe his face. Guiche did so, and the dwarf smiled at him before turning his gaze to the distance.

"Why…" He had to swallow heavily for a moment, and take a deep breath to prevent his voice from cracking. "Why didn't they join the battle yet? They could have wiped us out by now. Something is… very wrong." His familiar nodded hesitantly, clearly agreeing with his assessment of the situation but still not quite trusting whatever conclusion he'd come to. "Kenneth?" The dwarf's stare didn't break but his shoulders tensed.

"Ah've no idea, boy. But wh'ever th' reason is it cannae be good fer us." The young man sighed and pulled himself to a standing position; raising his sword into the air and lifting the ground beneath his feet with a double-stacked Earth as he did so. Their reinforcements, the other Dragon Knights, had landed and were watching him along with the recruits.

"Men of Tristain!" All of his practice paid off in this moment as he projected his voice in as rousing a fashion as he could manage. The image of his father standing at the head of an army flashed into his mind for an instant before he continued. "We have fought off the first wave, but the enemy remains in our sight! Yet I say to you now… we shall not battle on."

There was a quiet murmur of disbelief, of dissatisfaction, of relief, of _cowardice_ and more. As many different reactions as there were watchers. Guiche continued before the whispering could gain traction. "We shall cede this ground to our foes, and retreat. And we shall do this with honour! For this land we stand on," He gestured down at the raised platform under his soles, "This land is not Tristain." Silence met his proclamation, so he pointed his blade over at the town of Tarbes.

"And this village, its buildings and its farms... they are not Tristain!" All of them seemed confused by his rhetoric and yet fired up nonetheless. It wasn't in what he was saying, which mystified them, but how he said it; with a fire that was belied by the words themselves. "And our pride as soldiers, as citizens, as _men_... that pride is not Tristain." He was a little more reserved then as he waved his sword and lowered himself down.

Now standing among them, all eyes on him or at least in his general direction, Guiche continued. "You are Tristain. We are Tristain. They are Tristain." He gestured in turn to the soldiers, to himself, then in the direction the villagers had fled in. "If we stay and fight them now we will lose. And we will die, to the last man. It will be a brave and glorious battle! But we _will_ die." His tone and expression were gravely serious at that moment. Words such as 'brave' and 'glorious' sounded almost like curses in his mouth.

"Then they will sweep past us and kill the men, women and children of Tarbes. Then they will charge into the heart of our country and bring ruin with them and none shall know that they are coming until they are already there. Therefore, we will flee. We will run away, and we will warn our countrymen, and then, in the end, we will kill a hundred of them for every man who fell today! This I promise you!" A ragged cheer rose that quickly became full-throated and eager.

"Now then, follow me soldiers of Tristain! Onward, to victory!" And thus, with the most ironic rallying cry in history, Guiche de Gramont sounded the retreat.

* * *

Zharaqui sighed as she gazed at the scurrying soldiers off in the distance. They were organising to flee, huh? Well, that was disappointing but not unexpected. She'd hoped they would have sent for reinforcements and then dug themselves in here instead. Still, it was workable.

She turned and walked carelessly through the still-wet blood and past the corpses that covered the deck of the Flagship. As the wind shifted the Albionese vessels creaked slightly; that, and the occasional dripping, was the only sound that came from the fleet. The self-styled 'Admiral' of the rebel had wanted to press the attack. She had disagreed. That wouldn't serve her Master's purpose.

Of course, killing him had made the rest of the crew turn on her, and then the other ships had seen the mess and really it all seemed quite sensible if you looked at each step individually but the end result was quite messy. Fortunately, she didn't need the ships to do anything other than float there.

There was, belowdecks, a makeshift forge and piles upon piles of scrap iron. They weren't entirely _necessary_ ingredients in the ritual, all she actually needed was the metal or even the ore in a pinch, but they made things faster. Much faster.

Pronouncing the words was quite difficult even with the blessing of her Master. The runes on her hand glowed with a dark light that twisted and formed a secondary symbol just above the surface of her skin as the space around her began to distort. By the power of the two-fold Void she was invoking something that ought not be within this realm and the world thoroughly disagreed with that.

Little tears appeared in the air as her words transformed; thought became language became intent became action. The pile of metal started to glow red hot and flow together as she spoke to it of heat and motion and, most importantly of all, of _hatred_. A thing that did not belong began to take form in the belly of the flagship.

Makeshift limbs tried to take shape and failed. Wood warped and blistered and began to crack and dissolve under the increasing heat and the strain on the fabric of reality. For a moment Zharaqui could hear _laughter_ echoing through the rips in space and she rushed as much as she dared; between taking too long and tripping over one of the syllables she didn't know which could cause the most damage.

The laughter began to grow in volume and in variety. Men, women, children and more all united in their amusement over her predicament. It wasn't really an increase in raw volume, however, as much as it was a decrease in the distance between her and the origin. Sweat poured from her brow as the rents in the air grew in time with the undulations of the now spherical glob of molten metal that hung before her.

She wasn't afraid. Fear was not a luxury her Master allowed her. Yet even then she trembled for a moment as the laughter went utterly silent and a pair of bloodshot eyes surrounded by bandages met hers through one of the openings in space. At that instant she spoke the last word. Reality righted itself with a sharp snap as the distortions all around her closed.

Zharaqui knew she had succeeded when the wave of palpable loathing washed over her mind. She didn't stay to observe the results, however; by the time it hit her she was already flying up the stairs on to the main deck and when the first roar of abject hatred sounded she was halfway to the next ship. For the moment all she felt was a vague satisfaction.

However, when she heard the wood shattering as the thing she had made finally broke free of the vessel enclosing it, she allowed herself a faint smirk.

* * *

When they heard the sound Guiche noticed that Kenneth was trembling. The keel of the largest ship in the enemy fleet split moments later and a glowing orange-red shape fell out of it. The dwarf had already grabbed him by the arm and yanked the young man down to his level by the time it hit the ground; absolute terror writ large across his face.

"Guiche. Listen. Take them all and run. Don't argue. No questions. **_Run._** " His familiar spoke with the greatest clarity he'd ever heard from him. A moment later he pushed Guiche away and unslung his axe once more. The arm that held it was only shaking slightly but it might as well have been spasming wildly for how unusual that was.

A vaguely humanoid shape flung itself out of the smoking crater where the ball of what Guiche could only assume had been molten metal had hit. It landed heavily on all fours and then raised itself up and roared at the sky. The sound left all those who heard it certain of one thing; that whatever it might be this thing was coming to kill them. It wasn't like the Wights, who despised the living and brought ruin and suffering with them.

This creature hated you, personally, simply because it hadn't killed you yet.

"Go. Ah'll hold it off fer as long as ah can." The words shook Guiche to the core... but still, he obeyed. He called out to the soldiers; commanding them to take what they could and flee even as his familiar began to sprint out to meet the oncoming monster. Terror had been snatched from the jaws of victory.

Then a golden airship dropped out of the clouds.

* * *

It was gaudy and ostentatious by its very nature; small and sleek apart from the shining plating inscribed with religious iconography on every available inch of the surface. A smirking man with golden breastplate and matching cloak posed ostentatiously on the prow as his vessel rapidly descended. In his outstretched hand a sphere of light crackled with energy. He released it; the beam of Starlight scything through six vessels and very nearly cleaving them in twain before the energy died out. One by one they began to drop from the sky.

He didn't turn his attention to the ground until he was done destroying the stationary airships. Of course, Iulius had long since realised they were empty but by the time they had hit the ground the damage to the bodies would be sufficiently obscured that none would dare to give him the credit. In truth, he'd been waiting out of sight for some time now in hopes that the _dwarf_ would succumb to the Wights. Sadly, that had not been the case.

Now, though, even he could no longer stand idly by. Wights he could kill in the thousands, of that he was certain, but if their enemy was bringing Ashwalkers to bear then he needed to put a stop to it. One he could handle. Maybe even two or three. But there were several dozen airships and if she had the resources to craft one of the Forge Eaters for every vessel then he suddenly didn't trust their chances. Besides, even if he kept poor company the young man down there showed a fine spirit. Perhaps he might be of some use.

Iulius stepped off his vessel and dropped like a stone. As he descended one hand focused a cold blue light and the other poured energy from his vast reservoir into the air beneath him. He arrested his fall gradually; controlling the dive until he was close enough that he just let himself drop and land heavily in the path of the oncoming molten metal monstrosity. Then, with a faint smile, he flung his right hand out.

The plain snap-froze in a sharply angled cone that halted the thing for an instant. Its surface solidified but that wouldn't last; he could already see it struggling to move in spite of the hardening and liquid metal began to seep out of the cracks that were forming on its skin. One hand cast a constant stream of frost through the air at it while the other painstakingly fused ice and lightning. He stopped the barrage for a moment to form and launch a massive icicle spear through its chest; this immediately caused a steam explosion when frozen water met the molten steel core.

He didn't particularly care. A bolt of blue-white lightning crossed the distance and struck the hole in its chest. Electricity spread throughout its form and carried cold with it; sucking the energy from the thing and transforming it from an avatar of hatred to a statue in an instant. Iulius couldn't help but laugh. This world was _fantastic_. Nobody in history had ever slain an Ashwalker so easily. Not even the vaunted _Flamecutter_ , Dwarven 'Hero' that he was.

Still smiling in his nastily affable way, Iulius turned around and strolled away from the smoking ruin of one of his homeland's most deadly creatures. It was time to greet the young hero and lord his superiority over the subhuman. He was certain that the expression on the face of the latter would be absolutely priceless.

* * *

Sitting in darkness on an even darker throne a lone figure sighed. He flexed his right arm and idly stared at the way his skin moved for a moment. Then he cast his vision into the ring on his finger. Within, a black sigil had long since formed. Elsewhere, on the forehead of a steaming body, an identical symbol seemed to twist and shimmer. Were it not for the sinister feeling it gave off one might convince themselves the effect was merely a trick of the heat.

"I suppose that some things, one must do oneself."


	31. Bronze and Victory

Guiche couldn't help but stare blankly at the monster walking towards them. There was no other response that seemed to suit the situation. Beside him Kenneth seemed to be practically vibrating with condensed fury and terror both; the dwarven warrior visibly restraining himself from charging across the distance and doing… what, exactly?

The young man had recognised the symbols on the golden airship that was descending. It was a vessel of the Holy Church of Romalia; at the very least, none would dare to fake such iconography. Yet this… he couldn't think of it as a man, no… this smiling _thing_ couldn't possibly be from this world.

They idly picked bits of molten metal out of the visibly regenerating flesh of their arm as they sauntered over without a care in the world and look all the more horrifying for it. A good quarter of their armour was just _gone_ ; the vanquished monstrosity had ruined it when they'd **torn his arm off**. There it was, though… new flesh forming beneath a thick haze of golden light that had stopped his men cold at the sight.

"Well met!" A voice split the air between them as the thing called out. It sounded surprisingly human. But Guiche only knew of one man-shaped creature that could survive a fall of that magnitude and wield magic of that calibre. This, though… it definitely wasn't an Elf, that much he could be certain of. Suddenly, the young noble realised that the… 'man' had ceased his approach and seemed to be waiting for something.

"... ah. Ah! Yes, quite. Well met, good sir. I am Guiche de Gramont, Captain of the Undine Knights and senior officer of this training camp. We thank you for your most gracious rescue in our hour of need." Which he was thoroughly relieved to find out this was. If they'd had to fight an enemy who had just taken out something even Kenneth was afraid of…

"Oh, ye can piss right off to the Depths ye misbegotten son of a Zunali goat! Take one more step towards us and ah'll finish what that Ashwalker started!" His familiar pushed him aside and stepped forward; brandishing his axe and visibly gathering power in the way the earth heaved beneath his feet. The man stopped, face still frozen in a grin that had become more of a hateful death-rictus.

"Can I now? Tut-tut, little hero. We're not on Kelicho right now and you probably don't want to start _another_ war over your little… prejudice." The dwarf bristled at the wording of that statement and continued to glare with unbridled hatred… but, after a long pause, lowered his weapon. Then the man turned and bowed his head to Guiche.

"Iulius Caesar Aurelius of the First Divine Legion of Romalia. General Aurelius, in fact. I was dispatched by His Holiness, St. Aegis the Thirty-Second, to assist the nation of Tristain in repelling the heretics of the Reconquista." That was… unexpected. This man was a mage of unsurpassed power and yet even with the increase in strength that came with the transition to this world Guiche was certain that Kenneth had mentioned the overall destructive capabilities of his homeland's mages was… well, frankly, inferior to their Halkegenian counterparts.

It seemed reasonable to expect one to become equivalent in the transition but such a massive growth in strength was… it was terrifying. He half-suspected the man of being a disguised elf or vampire or lich or _worse_ , given his place of origin. However, he also vaguely recalled Kenneth mention the nation of Zunal.

A fiercely xenophobic military power that was still growing in his homeland. Apparently they had been responsible for a number of massacres and atrocities in their expansion thus far but had yet to truly turn the whole world against them. Even so, their distinctly 'pro-human' policies had caused no small amount of friction. Unsurprising that this man might be welcomed here.

Guiche's thoughts of political discourse were derailed by a point of confusion. He pointed into the mid-distance, at the ground, and turned his head to where his familiar was trying to have a staring match with Iulius; the man having fully recovered his body and turned to slowly reforming the remnants of his armour into its previous shape.

"Kenneth… is that meant to happen?" The dwarf looked over to follow the line of Guiche's pointing. Across the plain the grass was slowly turning black and dying. Tendrils of dead vegetation were stretching out from where the Ashwalker had perished and a slowly expanding circle of darkness was following in its wake. To their credit as warriors both Kenneth and Iulius ceased any pretense of conflict.

"... no, lad. It's not." As he said that a pillar of black flames exploded upwards from the cooling wreckage of the Ashwalker. Moments later a hand parted it; the metal was glowing a pale _white_ and the cracks in the surface… he didn't have the right word for it. They seemed to devour the light. The renewed Ashwalker pulled itself free of the inferno and roa-

 ** _his father's face ashen and pale brother eyes blank knife in hand montmorency with blood pouring out of her neck kenneth's face empty hole through his heart wardes coughing up blood and falling to the ground saito's spine breaks as he hits the bannister and spins away louise is knocked backwards in a hail of musket fire tabitha falls mutely from her dead dragon and strikes with a sickening cra-_**

A struck him in the chin and Guiche came back to his senses. He was on his knees; tears streaming thickly down his cheeks and his throat still hurt from the screaming and he was _still screa-_

Then a second blow the other direction and he _again_ regained his senses. His entire body felt cold and empty, his hands were trembling and Kenneth had to haul him bodily to his feet. The dwarf was shouting something at him but he couldn't be _because he'd seen him_ _ **die**_

"IGNITE, MY SORROWS!" At the first shout the shimmering cape on his back became an inferno of white light reaching out and encompassing everything.

"BURN, MY REGRETS!" Like a thick fog meeting dawn the unutterable _terror_ melted in the wake of the soothing coldness that came with the cloak.

"SHINE! AURORA REQUIEM!" And then Guiche was _free_ of it. Kenneth was supporting him and he felt so very _cold_ but he had regained his wits. Looking around he could see the men near him affected by the wave of white light pouring off his shoulders but Guiche had no idea how long he could sustain it. The cloak fed off the user in part and even if efficiency was enhanced due to the abundance of magical energy in Halkegenia it still couldn't last forever.

Outside of the circle of light cast by Guiche things were much more chaotic. Many men who'd ceased fleeing when the Ashwalker had been defeated were fleeing so fast they fell over their own legs every few feet. Others had collapsed into helpless piles of sobbing terror. The monster was still howling at the sky and Kenneth was right there with a grim expression. It can't have been more than a few seconds but it had felt…

"Guiche." The dwarf eyed him as he turned to his familiar; ashen-faced and trembling. "Are ye there, lad?" Slowly, the young nobleman nodded. He checked his forearm and found that his shield had gone silent and trembling.

"Derf? Derflinger! Can you hear me?" The animated object's 'mouth' shivered for a moment before twisting into a hateful expression.

"P-partner. Y-yeah. I'm… I'm here. That thing… I don't know what it is, but it's _wrong_. There's magic in it but it's twisted… tainted, even. And it's very…" His shield seemed to almost snarl and spit out the last word. "Familiar. We have to kill it, Kenneth! Right now! It's killing the very land around it!"

Guiche felt that the former sword was right on the mark. The plants had decayed and turned to a thick black ash; it was nothing like the sort left behind by a fire, though. Rather, there was a cloying smell of decay in the air like a thousand years had passed in an instant.

"We do. Kenneth, can you fight?" The dwarf looked startled, but nodded. "General, are you with us?" He looked to the golden man and was surprised to find terror written across his face. Even so, the older man nodded after a moment. "Alright. With me, then. This artifact can keep the fear it produces at bay for all of us; perhaps it will have an effect upon the creature."

"Guiche, you can't-" Kenneth's protests were cut off by a bright-bladed sword flicking out of its sheathe.

"I can. And I will. These are my men, Kenneth, and you are my familiar. The General has no authority. I am the senior officer here, and you will follow my instructions! I know you wish to protect me but this is a threat that we must face together!" His earnest outburst seemed to startle the dwarf into a brief silence. Off in the distance the howl of terror ended and the newly reborn Ashwalker burst into black flames. Guiche pointed at it.

"That monster is attacking my homeland, Kenneth. It's poisoning the land, it just incapacitated an entire army and I cannot allow it to get any further! So either help me or by Brimir get out of my way!" A thunderous noise drew their gazes to the creature; it had just taken a shaky step but seemed to be growing more confident in its movements with every successive one.

"... aye. Aye. Yer right. Let's go!" Man, dwarf and boy began to run together; all enmity forgotten in the face of their foe. As they drew closer and the thing began to charge Kenneth called out to him. "Guiche, lad! What's the plan?" The young man tightened the grip on his sword and focused on the monster as hard as he could.

"... the heat aura is gone! Kenneth, face it directly! General, keep it off balance! Give me an opening and I'll bring it down! Derf?" The shield creaked acknowledgement. "Think you can handle it then?" There was a laugh from the animated face.

"If I can't then we're all screwed anyway, partner! Let's do it!" A savage grin found its way on to Guiche's face. That's right. This was it. A pure moment of utter stupidity.

"Let's do it!" He pointed his sword forward as he ran. "For Tristain!"

Then Kenneth launched himself forward and slammed feet-first into the face of the monster.

* * *

This particular bar in La Rochelle was known to be home to a less… legitimate breed of airship captains. In the chaos of recent events many had flocked to this place in the hopes of making a good bit of cash; either by signing on as mercenaries for whatever side would have them or by raiding both indiscriminately. All of those who survived the next few days would come to greatly regret that decision.

The doors slammed open and a young man with piercing yellow eyes stepped in. He was wearing a long red hooded coat, sleeveless, and little else; the arms of his white shirt having been torn open to reveal a wide variety of tattoos in multicoloured ink. When he spoke it was with a voice that didn't match his youthful appearance and at a tone that was highly reminiscent of a snarling dog.

"I require passage to Albion at once." There was a general chuckle from the bar and then a man stood up and sauntered towards the glaring young man.

"I think you're in the wrong place, brat. Try the po-" His sentence ended as soon as he came into arm's reach of the young man. A dagger had appeared in his right hand but it was totally clean. Instead, the fingers of his left dripped with flesh blood. Four perfectly circular puncture wounds were now present in the former human's throat.

"Who here has the fastest ship?" The tone of voice didn't change but the atmosphere had. All of them were frozen. Saito looked around with murder in his eyes until one shaken man pointed at the corpse beside him. That got a glare from the young familiar that caused the fully grown man to wet himself. "If you can fly his ship then step forward now. Otherwise, I'll kill you where you are. And if you lie to me I'll kill you _slowly_." He had several volunteers and, thus, took all of them. The remainder sat stock still in growing puddles of their own urine until the terrifying demon-boy had left.

Ten minutes later an airship departed. It was utterly foolhardy of them to do so given it was in the late evening and the weather was, frankly, awful. But the port's authorities didn't especially care about the movements of pirates.

Saito stood on the prow of the ship as it rose into the clouds. All of the power in his Air Runes gathered at once and he kicked out; seeming to split the sky as a blade of wind divided the water vapour before him and revealed the night sky so the unlucky new captain of the vessel could set a heading. Then he stared out into the black abyss; fist clenched.

During the sprint from the Vallière's estate, a two-day journey by horseback for _reasonable_ people, his fury had chilled to the perfect state of icy hatred that suited his people. He was busy thinking of inventively horrible things he would do to Wardes if even a single hair on Louise's head was harmed. And if, Gods forbid, she wasn't alive when Saito found her?

Then he'd kill them all of the Reconquista. Every last soldier, every Noble, every person who'd ever supported them, sheltered them, condoned them or even so much as had _peaceful_ dealings with them. He would raze the entire damned continent to the ground if he had to. And in the ashes he would plant the true Crimson Banner so that all future generations could learn the most important unspoken law in all of Kelicho.

Do _**not**_ mess with the Bannermen.

* * *

Fighting the Black Ashwalker felt like fighting against death itself. Or at least, Guiche imagined it must be like this. His skin felt cold every time it lashed out and the dark fire that surged forth with every strike seemed to be eroding the very ground around them. The Moonlight pouring off his cloak was keeping it at bay.

Iulius had shrouded himself in the same energy and was launching bolts of golden fire at it whenever he got a chance. He had to dodge, however, as he had turned out to be far more vulnerable to it than Kenneth. An idle strike had transformed his exposed arm into a withered husk and caused his armour to rust away seemingly from the inside out.

The dwarf, meanwhile, was highly resistant to the direct effects of the unholy magic. Guiche was certain it was due to his nature as a partial Elemental. Even then this beast was tenacious. Kenneth ducked under a wild swing and smashed his axe through the thing's arm but it wasn't even slightly inconvenienced. The surface had exploded in a gout of shadowy flames and the limb had remained intact.

Guiche was having to stay back and surge his cloak every time it made a move in his direction. Without Kenneth's insane vitality and Iulius' unfair regeneration magic a direct hit would be fatal to him even if he could negate the fire. It seemed to shy away from the ethereal white light but wasn't actually damaged by it.

Iulius' golden flames seemed to eat at it for a few moments before the black fire devoured it in turn. The curious blue, glass-like energy that Kenneth had used earlier and the General was trying now seemed to be even less effective. As soon as it came close to the Ashwalker it seemed to corrode and shatter in the air.

He flicked out his wand and summoned a pair of his Valkyries to try and distract it somewhat. They didn't even get close before they collapsed into piles of black rust. Guiche could feel the magic he'd invested in them being burnt away as well; a horrific sensation indeed.

"Derf, are you alright?" The shield had been trembling throughout the battle but wasn't otherwise any worse for wear. Still, he could see a faint tarnishing about the edges of it despite his best efforts to keep the dark fire away from him.

"Holding together, partner! I've been through worse than this!" Guiche suspected that this was a lie but he appreciated it all the same. Iulius deflected a wave of black flames with a wall of Moonlight that suddenly sputtered out halfway through; the resulting shockwave smashed him backwards. The Ashwalker immediately leapt at the most vulnerable of the three; Guiche.

Kenneth was there before he could blink; swinging a forceful punch with a shining blue left arm. It shattered in a blast that was near-blinding as soon as it struck the monster's chest; sending dwarf and beast flying backwards and spinning off their feet. Guiche did something that surprised even himself; charging past his downed familiar and flicking his sword outwards.

The pale blade absorbed Moonlight and passed right through both legs as the face-down Ashwalker tried to lift itself up. This time it seemed to stick as the white light fought against the black fire and it collapsed back down. His sword flashed again; carving white lines through the body again and again. All four limbs had been removed now and the thing was writhing beneath him as it fought to shift its form. Whatever change had been made to it had rendered its body less malleable, though, and the cold-burning liquid metal was solidifying under his feet with each slash of white light.

"Guiche, now!" Derf called out his name and he immediately rammed the spiked shield into the body of the Ashwalker; loosing it from his arm right after and pulling back. He focused his mind and willpower then poured both magic and memory into Aurora Reqiuem; it exploded into a pillar of white light as tears ran thickly down his face for the umpteenth time today.

Beneath him the black fire was forced down and Derfflinger was visibly corroding as he devoured the animating force of the Ashwalker. It seemed to be almost at a stalemate; until Guiche shoved his sword _through_ the shield and beast alike. The magic was conducted beautifully; the rose on his hilt becoming a glorious beacon in the evening light as the entire blade shone from within.

Then his footing destabilised and Guiche collapsed into a pile of foul-smelling liquid. There was no more fire, no more sense of dread, no deep chill in his muscles. It was… he pulled himself up and tried to wipe the metallic goo from his body. Then he saw Derfflinger.

The loyal shield was barely there now. His sword was gingerly removed from it with a twinge of guilt and he turned it around to hold in his hands. Even with a good half of it corroded away around the edges the remains managed to look smug at him.

"Heh… we sure showed it; eh, partner?" Suddenly the animated armament broke into a hacking couch that Guiche was pretty certain was a _horrible_ sign. "Oof… that was a nasty tasting one. But we beat it, didn't we?" The young noble looked around. There was a slowly spreading pool of black _something_ that still partially held the shape of the Ashwalker's limbs. For hundreds of metres in every direction the grass was more than dead. It looked like the ground itself had been transformed into a quagmire of rot and decay.

"... yeah, we did." A pained expression crossed his face as he gently touched the jagged edges of his trusty shield. "Derf… I'm sorry. I've treated you rather poorly. With everything that's happened I don't think I really appreciated you…" The shield twisted in a way that perhaps was analogous to shaking its head at him and smiled.

"Don't apologise. We had a good run, and you've shown me some pretty amazing battles! I've not had someone like you to fight with in... well, a long time. Apart from a little lack in polishing you've been a pretty great partner." There was another round of racking coughs from the metal being in his hands and part of it broke off. "Pretty sure this is it, though. That stuff did a number on me. Not sure how much longer I can hold together…"

Guiche felt… torn. This wasn't the first person he'd lost in battle. There had been plenty of bodies today to keep him company in his dreams. But this felt… worse, somehow. Closer to home. He'd known this might happen and chosen the path anyway. Derf had agreed to it, but… from the beginning he had treated the animated shield as more of a tool than a friend.

"Derf... " What could he say? This was just another in the line of his failures. One of many, as of late. The shield's face contorted into a frown.

"Don't you go feeling sorry for me, kid. I'm a few thousand years old and short more than a few screws. Your dwarf told me I might not even survive the reforging and I was still willing to give it a go! Anything to get a little more excitement in my life. This ain't such a bad way to go. Fighting alongside Halkegenia's next great hero." Derf grinned at him and Guiche felt a little better. That's right. They'd… they'd done it, hadn't they? The monster was gone and, Guiche glanced around quickly before allowing his thought to continue, there were no more threats.

… the day was won. Soldiers in the distance seemed to have recovered their senses somewhat and were gathering again. Ragged cheers were going up; celebrating being alive as much as anything else. He could see them moving to pick up the dead and wounded, pull tents back up and do what they could. Heroes. They _were_ heroes, weren't they? _He_ was a hero.

"Hey, Guiche." The voice was a little quieter. "Go check on your familiar, too. I'll be fine a bit longer." That startled him fully out of his funk. Kenneth! He was about to rush off when he remembered he was still holding Derf and, well, didn't want to jostle him. Nor did he want to put him back down in the… whatever that thing had become. So he tossed out one of his last few Vakyries and passed the shield to it to hold while he dashed over to check on the dwarf.

Saying that his familiar was a little worse for wear would be a severe understatement. There were burns on his face and right hand that were very slowly being healed under a golden glow from said hand and his left arm was… well, it was gone. The entire thing had been shattered down its length and rained to the ground in little chunks around them. Kenneth was grinning from ear to ear, though, and was therefore probably going to be fine.

"We did it, lad!" His beard clacked as he laughed happily and Guiche couldn't help but smile in kind. "We killed the damned thing! Ah've no idea what it was, but we… nay, ye killed it! That's me boy!" His glee was infectious and before long they were laughing together. Then Kenneth awkwardly pulled himself to his feet and examined the damage.

"Not too bad, eh? Feel like ah'm short a few years o' me life but that's what this," He tapped his semi-earthen chest, "Is for. Still… bit of a bugger about th' arm. Red made it. Not sure ah kin rig up a replacement on me own, even with Colbert…" The dwarf shrugged. "Well, 'twere definitely worth it. C'mon, lad. We ought t'see if the Zunali scumsucker is still breathing, even if he is a waste of good meat." Guiche nodded; still somewhat startled by the sheer harshness of Kenneth's invective.

Then, quite suddenly, the connection to his Valkyrie snapped. His head likewise spun wildly to face the construct as he readied his weapon expecting to see a new horror to fight. Instead the golem was merely standing still with the remains of a metal shield falling between its fingers and into the muck.

"Oh, no. Derf…" Guiche hurried over, Kenneth trudging along behind him, and knelt in the muck. The damage had finally overcome whatever magic had been keeping the shield intact and it had split in 'twain. He picked up the two largest pieces in either hand with a heavy heart and then bowed his head in sorrow.

Then…

"... partner?" The young man's head snapped up to look at his former Valkyrie. It appeared to be looking _back_ at him and was radiating confusion. "... you know, I thought that we'd been through the weirdest stuff I'd ever seen but this?" The ex-shield held up his, or possibly her, new hand and stared at it with clear disbelief. "This tops everything else."

Guiche was too busy hugging his new old friend to listen to the rest.

* * *

"Something not going according to _plan_ , Viscount?" Wardes tried to ignore the hatred in Louise's voice as they hovered some few miles distant from the city of Londinium. The _conquered_ city of Londinium. Well, it was already conquered before but now the Reconquista's banners had been cast down, or set alight in some cases, to be replaced with the former royalty's.

He wasn't entirely sure how this had happened given the entire Royal Family of Albion was _definitely_ dead. After all, he'd seen to that personally. Their armies had been crushed by the brutal combination of Reconquista's ruthless tactics and the predations of his ultimate master's unholy servant. There shouldn't be anything _left_ to resist.

But he could see the corpses of the rebels piled up outside the gates, a _massive_ stone golem collapsed against one of the walls and what looked like a black cloud above the city turned out to be, upon use of magic to enhance his eyesight, a swarm of literally thousands of birds; of prey or otherwise. Many still had bloody talons and it was fairly easy for him to link that fact with the lack of eyes in many of the corpses.

Then there was the Wolf. For some reason his brain just added the capital letter on its own. The thing was the size of houses, plural, and it had been roaming around the outside of the city when he'd come into view. Now it was looking straight at him and he could have sworn it even met his gaze. From where she was tied to his saddle Louise couldn't see it but she could tell he was dismayed.

"..." He opened his mouth to reply to her but it felt… pointless. Londinium had been his main hope. Taking her to the Reconquista and staying there for as long as he could in order to keep her away from the Mad King. Now, though… there wasn't much of a choice. All of Halkegenia would be converging on Tristain to help repel Zharaqui's insane assault and if they defeated it they'd be coming to Albion next. Saito wouldn't be far behind him either.

Hating himself for the choice he was making Wardes spurred his exhausted steed to turn and head onward. There was another base to the North where he could commandeer an airship. Then he'd head to his last… well, his last point of retreat, he supposed. It was a bit of a stretch to call it either a 'haven', or even 'safe'.

But, as things stood, Gallia was all he had left.

* * *

 _Dwarf of Bronze: End of Act Four_


	32. Crimson and Slaughter

Captain Alden of the Reconquista airship noted, with some relief, that their target slowed as they approached and even began to fly their own colours; the familiar red flag easing some concerns. Of course nothing remained of the Royalist fleet but with the recent events in the Capitol he'd feared, as they all had, that a secret army was lurking in wait somewhere to sweep them from the isles.

That said army had yet to materialise, leaving the fall of Londinium a terrifying mystery, did nothing to ease the spirits of the rebels. Still, this looked to be a much needed supply run by one of the many airships sufficiently mercenary to be willing to sell to whomever could pay. Right now, that was them.

After an awkward minute or two the two ships were brought alongside and boarding planks lowered peacefully. No armed resistance materialised; indeed, the crew seemed entirely unarmed. Perhaps as a show of good faith, or perhaps they didn't expect much trouble.

"Captain." Alden inclined his head to the leader of the other ship that stepped forward to greet him; noting with a faint sense of trepidation that the man seemed somewhat nervous for some reason. His gaze was fixed firmly on Alden's face and he seemed disinclined to look anywhere else. The crew, too, were similarly oddly tempered; those on deck were few and far between, merely the ones assigned to essential stations, and they all seemed to be pointedly staring away from his own vessel.

A quick glance back at his ship showed all in good order and he frowned before turning to the other man. "Are you alright?" The other captain swallowed heavily and nodded slowly.

"Aye. Just, ah, my first time doing the route, sir." Well, that made some degree of sense. For all he knew he was about to have his supplies taken by force, without payment, and that wouldn't do at all. Alden wasn't a Noble by any stretch of the imagination and he'd joined the Reconquista specifically because of things such as that.

"No fear, my good man. You'll be on your way soon enough. I just need to warn you that the delivery point for goods has altered; some fighting has broken out in Londinium and it's not safe right now." The other man looked quite surprised by this news, and even more nervous if anything.

"Oh aye? What happened? If I may ask?" There was a noticeable bead of sweat dripping down the captain's face as he kept his gaze staunchly fixed on Alden and a growing sense of discomfort was starting to build in the pit of his stomach.

"A few traitorous elements remained. Inciting unrest in the populace." That was the official line, anyway. In reality they'd just lost communication and been unable to penetrate the impossible blizzard surrounding the city. "As soon as the weather clears we'll have it well in hand. Until then you need to go to the encampment in York for delivery."

"Thank you." The voice was soft and harsh, coming from behind him. Alden turned and saw, very briefly, a tableau of horror; all the men on his deck slumped in place with blood pouring from their cleanly necks. An apparition in red stood before him and he saw their hand flicker for a moment before feeling a heat spread across his throat. Then a hand grasped his shirt and casually shoved him into open air.

Fortunately for Alden, he passed out from blood loss before he hit the ground.

* * *

It had taken all of Jakob's willpower to not let his eyes flicker across to the events happening behind the Reconquista ship's captain. The _thing_ that had dragged him here in the first place had sort of just _appeared_ over the side of the other ship and set about methodically murdering every single person on deck.

None of them had seen it coming as he'd leapt silently from kill to kill; cutting nearly all the way through their necks from behind with inhuman speed and delicacy. At this point, Jakob was utterly convinced that the boy was a vampire, an elf, or possibly some unholy fusion of the two. It was the only thing that made sense.

The last thing that he'd done was to go back to the other ship, severing the boarding ramp in the process, and for a moment Jakob thought he was free. That had been foolish of him. Instead, the monster had just torn through the mast with one arm, neat as you like, and then leapt back to their own ship before it had even hit the deck.

"Go." Orders were called out before their master had finished going belowdecks; they swung away from the listing Reconquista ship as the living streamed up to the deck and cried out with confusion and dismay as they discovered the carnage. They had no idea how lucky they were to be merely stranded, floating in the middle of nowhere. With his power surely the boy could have sunk the whole vessel.

As they pulled away Jakob found himself wondering if he'd survive this trip. Things continuing as they had it was likely that they'd all be executed by their cargo at the other end; or upon the return. Maybe they should make a run for it when they dropped him off? Yet even that thought conjured up images of a furious spectre draped in red calmly explaining to his broken self that he'd have died much more quickly had it not been for the imposition of having to track him down.

It was almost a liberating feeling to resign himself to his fate. Perhaps, if all went well, he'd die quickly. Right now that seemed to be all that any of them could hope for.

* * *

Agnès carefully finished drawing an outline of the enemy camp under the light of Matilda's wand. The bulk of the enemy forces were arrayed there and the two of them had left with the wolf's blessing to survey the enemy. Although the creature itself seemed near-divine it clearly was confident in dealing with an army only up to a point.

She could see why. The enemy forces looked formidable. There hadn't been all that many guarding Londinium and the nature of their attack had given them a strong advantage. This would be much trickier.

"Do you have everything you need?" Agnès glanced at the green-haired woman and frowned. Her history was a colourful one, and not in a good way, which made her hard to trust. Knowing they were working with the former 'Phantom Thief' Fouquet was a little hard to stomach. Still… Tiffania trusted her, and Agnès owed that girl so much.

"More or less. I wish we could get a more accurate reading on their overall unit compositions but this will have to do." She'd sketched the layout of their fortifications and taken notes as best she could as to the rough number of troops as well as the location of the command posts. If they could blitz them under cover of night and storm, take out the leaders…

Her thoughts were interrupted by spotting something; a ship floating in from the East. The camp had noticed it and a few of the traitor Nobles in their ranks seemed to be readying themselves. Matilda frowned and stared at the ship; she'd been using 'Far Sight' to pass details to Agnès until a moment ago and had yet to deactivate it.

Suddenly the woman turned pale and began to tremble. One hand seemed to move involuntarily to her throat and the other clenched her wand tightly. Agnès stared at the ship with her own inferior sight and tried to see if she could grasp any sign of what had startled the poor woman so. Then Matilda began to laugh.

"It's over. We win. The war is over." That brought Agnès up cold and she looked from Matilda to the ship; still slowly passing by the encampment as it circled around to the landing site. It was flying the Reconquista's flag, but was it not theirs? The older woman was still laughing; sounding almost deranged in her vehemence.

"I don't know what they did… but they're all dead. Every last one. They brought _him_ here." Before Agnès could ask who was being referred to there Matilda pointed at the ship. A figure in a flowing red cloak had just appeared, strangely visible where he stood on the prow of the vessel. Even more visible as they stepped off into open air.

They dropped like a stone; falling like a bloody comet with a ruddy red-brown light suffusing them as they did so. When they hit the ground it _shook_ and the entire plain trembled. Alarms were sounded, men being rallied and roused as the figure walked calmly out of the massive crater left by their landed; apparently unconcerned by the several hundred metre drop to the ground they'd just made. Matilda's laughter had reached an insane fever pitch but, for the first time, Agnès realised she was also crying.

"It's over…"

And then it began.

* * *

The soldiers guarding the gate to the camp just had enough time to recognise the figure walking out of the billowing dust as a young man in a red cloak when, suddenly, he was gone. There was a moment of confusion as their minds rebelled against them; struggling to recall what they'd just seen as more than an impression of colour.

Then he landed between them and swung out with the two long knives in each hand; the force of his blows enhanced to the umpteenth degree by the shining white light on top of his hand. Their light armour wasn't even able to keep their heads attached to their bodies for more than a second. He kicked the gate and it shattered inwards; spraying splinters over the startled Reconquista trying to rally inside.

Of the first to die none of them saw how it happened. There was just a flicker of red flashing towards them; an already inhuman level of speed _multiplied_ by the power given to him by the familiar runes into something that defied comprehension. Heads sailed into the air with a single dash and a few leisurely swings. They were the lucky ones.

A Noble stepping out of their tent mid-cast found a dagger sprouting from their eye socket. Jeirazh began his work in earnest then; keeping a weapon in his weaker hand and leaving the stronger one free. Screams finally began to ring out as he charged the largest group of men he could see.

Impossible speed or not he could only kill them so quickly and there were thousands of them. He was not invincible to blade or shot and would, in the end, be brought down by a hundred grazing strikes from a thousand desperate men. Thus, he made sure to attack on two fronts at once.

Before him the first group of five were hit. He struck their armour and punched it inwards; trapping men in their own defensive accoutrements and stealing their breath away. This, however, was ineffective. The other dagger was discarded and swapped for a knuckle duster; the boost was necessary but free hands worked best for what he was going to do to them.

Working to his advantage was the curse of his people. Like this, in his true shape, he was like a wisp of fog both physically and mentally. The further he ranged the more confusion spread as those who had seen him attack their allies and friends desperately tried to hold on to their mental image of him to no avail. If he had been Saito in that moment they would have been able to recall him clearly and bring the full might of their army to bear. As it was…

A company was already under arms and starting to move into battle formation within the encampment; perhaps they'd already been prepared when he attacked. Still, they were his first target. As he moved between the tents he didn't hesitate. A babyfaced soldier boy, barely sixteen if Jeirazh was any judge, weakly lunged at him with sword in hand; the clumsy strike effortlessly dodged and turned against its origin. He left the boy disarmed behind him and screaming at the pain of it.

The next one to clearly see him was armoured more heavily and tried to bring him down with a sweeping mace stroke. Jeirazh sidestepped clearly and then tentatively stomped on the mace where it hit the ground. To his glee the metal sank deeper _and_ held his weight just long enough for him to push off it and kick the soldier in the head as he did so; the momentum sent him hurtling through the air with cloak flared behind him like a gigantic crimson bat. This drew even more attention and the army began to spread the word and converge.

There was the company. One hundred odd men, armed and armoured and with shouting Sergeants trying to bring them into order and rally them against him. He stepped up behind the nearest one in a blur of motion, wrapping his jaw around the man's neck and applying pressure until his teeth met in the middle. The dislodged head went flying into the midst of the horrified troops who, at last, got a good look at him.

He stood taller than any of them right now; blood dripping from his muzzle and eyes glowing yellow in the dark. The claws weren't all that effective as weapons, and didn't register the rune benefits in any case, but they helped complete the package. To these men he looked nothing less than a monster. None of them wanted to act or charge; even as fires began to break out behind him and the screams of those he'd crippled on his way began to finally sound out.

It had been less than a minute since he hit the ground.

* * *

Sitting in the forest overlooking the encampment, Agnès and Matilda watched the carnage in silence. It was hard to talk through all the screaming. In the few minutes since the red man had landed he'd cut a visible swath of destruction through the camp; marked by scores of dying men. Mostly dying, in fact. It was hard to see from here but even though he must have injured several hundred by now most of them were still moving.

Crawling, in most cases, admittedly but… even so. The only ones that seemed to die quickly were the Nobles that tried to confront the attacker. Their magic was negated with almost contemptuous ease and they themselves were rendered into no more than meat in an instant.

Just then he repeated a pattern he'd done twice already; shooting into the air and leaping _sideways_ , in total defiance of all logic, to land outside the encampment. Then he circumnavigated it in a bloody blur of pain. The purpose of this was clear to see. Many had already tried to flee; running out through the front gate or the two holes in the wall he'd made with his re-entry the previous two times.

"He's crippling them..." Agnès watched the man solidify beside a fleeing soldier and remove one of his legs at the knee before blurring into invisibility once more. He moved too fast for her eyes to follow reliably and in the moments between sightings she felt disoriented and confused. What was she even watching? That confusion faded quickly when she caught sight of him again but even so…

"No." Matilda wordlessly reached out and offered a scrap of red fabric to Agnès. As soon as she took it she could suddenly _remember_ everything. More than everything, even. The disorientation faded as she was able to recall the man between his moments of visibility. Beyond that, though, she could remember on several occasions spotting him in the past; out of the corner of her eye, watching the Princess from a distance. Yet when she'd thought to confront him she'd broken off in confusion as he slipped out of view and she'd just… _forgotten._

"... what is… he?" The last word was tinged with a sort of horror as she stared at Matilda; who obviously knew about this abomination already. To her surprise the older woman laughed again, and then sighed.

"I don't know. He saved me. Snapped my neck, then healed it and brought me back. Convinced my former masters I was dead. Gave me the mission; find Osmond, rescue my sister, and return to him. But I…" At that moment Matilda's face went white as ash while she realised something clearly horrific. Then she swallowed heavily. "I disobeyed… I stayed here, and…"

Agnès saw the former thief trembling like a leaf in the wind and looked back to the camp. It took her a few moments to locate the blur of red that indicated the passage of the man once more. He'd just slammed headlong into a shield wall and broken it with sheer force; scattering the overlapping defence like dandelion seeds and literally leaping from flying body to flying body; kicking them down to the ground with bone-shattering force.

It all happened so fast Agnès felt she must be imagining what she was seeing, or confused. They'd moved as close as they dared to, given the distraction of the devastation being wrought before them, but even so…

"He's not crippling them." Having recovered some semblance of sanity, Matilda finally elaborated on her earlier point. "Their wounds are mortal. They'll all die. Slowly. Painfully. Screaming in agony. Every new scream is a blade thrust at the heart of this force." She pointed at those trying to flee despite the screaming wounded littering the plain around them.

"Look at them run. Even though they can see what will happen. Once enough are routing all at once he'll let them go. They'll never be soldiers again. He's broken them." In the midst of the enemy forces a change occurred. The flickering death that had been whittling through the ranks piece by piece ground to a halt. He stopped and faced the largest group of survivors, head on; standing there and waiting.

They gave it all they had. Crossbows unloaded, javelins and spears were flung, even a handful of spells unleashed. It was all pointless. With a slow, calm stride he gradually crossed the twenty metre distance between him and the line as if it was a casual stroll. Maybe it was, for him. Each incoming shot was deflected, dodged or negated without incident and with what looked like minimal effort.

Finally, as he reached the front lines a massive soldier in heavy plate with a two-handed sword broke ranks and charged him; swinging their blade in a brutal overhead cleave that split the air and then, quite suddenly, stopped. There was silence among the soldiers save for the screams of their dying in that moment as they all stared at the same possibility.

The monster had caught the falling blade between forefinger and thumb. It was held there, not straining at all in either direction no matter how the giant of a man tried to pull or push it. Then there was a loud _crack_ as the surface of the blade splintered. Following by thumb and fingertip coming together; punching through the steel to meet in the middle.

That did it. Whatever semblance of morale might have remained was broken by that display. They all turned and ran every which way, as fast as their legs could carry them. Whereupon Matilda's predictions as to the path of the battle were proven to be terribly, _horribly_ misguided.

For the man had picked up a discarded blade of his own, a two-hander he wielded as if it were a butter knife, and begun to work. Circling around, chasing down the fleeing soldiers and striking them down in twos and threes with massive swings that bisected them horizontally, diagonally and in a few rare cases vertically.

These ones weren't left to bleed slowly to death. It wasn't a rout. It was a massacre. Once he was done nobody was standing on the entire plains except for him. He then began methodically moving to the Nobles that had yet to bleed out; cauterising their wounds and forcibly bringing them into consciousness in the process.

"... we'd best go see him." Matilda stood and began to weakly walk out of the treeline. Agnès agonised, but eventually stood and began to follow her. As they slowly approached he paid them no mind whatsoever; merely crushing the throats of the Nobles he spoke to one by one as they gave him answers he clearly didn't like.

As they picked their way through the bodies Agnès couldn't help but pick up one of the discarded blades. She paused here and there to deliver a swift end to some of the more agonised soldiers in their path; going to all of them would have taken so long they'd like as not be dead by the time she reached them. Even so, she couldn't just _leave_ them…

"Matilda." Now she was closer Agnès could see the inhumanness of what she'd originally taken for a man. It looked more like some painter had tried to draw a wolf walking on two legs and wearing human clothing. However, that image was shattered again as, with a crackle of lightning, the shape changed. Fur vanished, eyes stopped glowing, and proportions altered until an oddly familiar young man stood before them.

"... Jeirazh. Sir. I-" A blood-soaked hand was held up to forestall any further comments from her. Matilda stared at the ground, shaking in place.

"Save it. I will admit, I am **blindingly furious** right now," A statement which, combined with the sudden murderous tone that contrasted the curiously polite voice and mannerisms, made Agnès freeze up on the spot, "That isn't on you. Whatever you have done, you did it for your family and your people. I can't fault you that." Then his gaze fell on Agnès.

"You must the Princess' former guard, Agnès. I'm sorry to say that you've been charged with the murder of Prince Wales, in absentia, and stripped of your rank as a traitor to the crown." The words stung more than she'd thought they would, but weren't unexpected. After this was all over she'd have to present herself before the Queen and beg for whatever mercy she might get. "But, given your accuser has kidnapped the Royal Playmate and proven himself a traitor I suspect you'll be fine." There was a moment of relief, and then…

"Louise?"

"Miss Vallière?"

Her voice and Matilda's had rung out in unison; her own incredulous and the other woman's horrified. At last the link in her head clicked and Agnès couldn't help but point in horror. "You're! That boy familiar! But… how… you're… what _are_ you?" Saito, that was his name. He seemed to take it in stride and smiled coldly; gesturing for them to follow as he began to walk toward the command tent.

"Viscount Wardes asked for Louise's hand in marriage, then kidnapped her after she got cold feet at the wedding. He also tried to kill myself and her sister in the process. An investigation of a number of private letters I'm sure he thinks he burned will demonstrate that he has been a traitor for… some time." Matilda turned a little red at that and Agnès glowered at her.

"This whole time, you knew?" The older woman seemed a little affronted and looked away.

"Well, we haven't exactly been talking about what happened with you, have we? You rather glossed over it all. And I didn't exactly want to tell my little sister what I've…" She broke off and stared at the ground once more; clearly ashamed. Agnès felt anger cooling slowly. It was hard to hate Matilda when she'd been as much of a pawn in this as anyone, by her own admission.

"Regardless, I thought he'd come here. I only just learned of the fall of Londinium and this encampment. No sign of him… your doing?" Saito looked to Matilda, who perked up and nodded.

"Yes. I found Osmond, per your instructions, and explained the situation. Then we came to collect my sister. However, I found Agnès with her and… something else." Saito looked interested, so she continued. "She seems to have summoned a familiar. A rather tremendous wolf, with extraordinary abilities." That brought him up cold and he turned to look at her.

"A wolf… vast size?" She nodded. "Power over the weather?" Another nod. A look of grim, nasty satisfaction filled his face and he began to smirk. "Of course. _Of course_. This is… haha… too perfect. Let us go and retrieve your sister and the Headmaster. I know exactly where Wardes must be. And Asilah, in her wisdom, has granted us exactly what we need." The name was unfamiliar to her, but by his tone…

"You're familiar with the creature?" Saito nodded, his expression still fierce, as he looked for thing to carry them. It seems he'd startled off all their cavalry during the fighting.

"Of course. He is the First Wolf of Kelicho. Rejoice, my dears. That creature is the closest you'll ever get to seeing a god in the flesh. And my people have a very cordial relationship with his woman." He began to chuckle then; low and dark and full of malice.

And although Agnès knew they probably deserved whatever was coming to them she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the fools that had made this man their enemy.


	33. Zero and Remorse

Louise de la Vallière truly had to wonder why any person would have built a room like this. She had no idea who could possibly own the castle, given there was little way for her to tell where they had been going from above, but the art and architecture appeared to be Gallian to her unprofessional eye. Still, even with the peculiarities of that nation this was…

The room was evenly divided by a wall of iron bars; her side furnished as if it was a normal room. She had a bed and a dresser and even a window, also thickly barred, as well as a small area with a curtain for privacy. A large table extended across the barrier, bars running right through it, and had a rising slat in the middle. It was unerring to think that Wardes had known to bring her _here_ in particular. Equally so was the very low number of servants they'd seen as he'd dragged her in here; all of them had seemed quite skittish as well.

There had been an overwhelming urge to stab the traitorous bastard on many occasions but reason had stayed her blade. Firstly, Louise knew she would only get one shot in and she was not very confident in her ability to kill her ex-fiancé regardless of how much she despised him right now. Secondly, she had no idea where she was or how far away she was from safety. Lastly…

Sentiment. Perhaps Saito would have chided her for it. But she still had faint memories of Wardes from when she was much younger; where he was smiling and kind and gentle to the girl that didn't really understand what 'engagement' meant. Then more recent times. Sympathy and pain alongside hers. He had helped her so, had he not? Which is why it hurt so very much to remember those dreadful moments at her estate.

It had happened, though. For all that kindness it _had_ happened. Which was why when the door opened and the man himself stepped in with a covered tray she fixed him with stare full of every ounce of venom that she could muster. However, his reaction was not what she had expected. If anything it hurt her heart all the more to see the faint pain in his face before it forced itself back into a dispassionate mask.

"I don't know how long we can stay here before… before I'm called to my master. Enjoy what freedoms you have while they last." Though she deeply wished to scoff openly at his words the better part of her was chilled by them instead. Some weeks ago she might have insulted his choice of words, but now? Louise knew from the tales of Saito and Kenneth that there were worse fates than mere imprisonment. Worse fates than a simple death.

"... so you are a _traitor_ after all. I had rather hoped you had just taken leave of your senses, _Viscount_ , and decided to force an elopement. A far more romantic notion than _treason._ " In that moment she was every bit her mother's daughter. Sitting calm and firm in the face of her adversary and letting him know just how far beneath her he was. Her particular emphasis had him visibly wince and yet he didn't defend himself.

"I brought you soup." After a long silence he finally laid the tray down; uncovering it. There was a steaming bowl there, with appropriate cutlery, and he pushed it up to the middle of the table. As he opened the slat to push it through the bars he continued. "I asked the cook to leave out the onions." Louise stared at the soup and then gave him a withering look.

"I am very nearly a grown woman, _Viscount_ , and for your information I stopped refusing to eat onions when I was _nine_. Tell me, has your understanding of me always been so shallow?" She stepped forward and shoved the tray roughly back. The bowl upended itself and soup spilled all over the table before starting to trickle on to the floor. Wardes sighed heavily.

"Louise, you really mus-" But whatever she 'must' do was to remain an unknown as a fire lit in her heart and eyes. Louise stormed up to the bars and grasped them; _glaring_ at the man who would have been her husband with naked hatred.

"You shall call me _Lady Vallière_ or you shall not address me at all, _Viscount_! I for one can think of no remaining bond between us that would allow you such familiarity with me." Then she spun away and stormed off to stare out the window. The weather outside was dreadful but it was a sight more pleasant by far than that man's face.

"Louise…" She heard Wardes sigh when she didn't respond to him. There was a muttered incantation and then a slosh of water as he presumably cleaned up behind her. Then the sound of wood dragging across stone. "Louise. Please. I didn't want… I don't want… you have to understand, I had no choice." She continued to ignore him for some time. When she did spoke the tone was as if she was speaking to the air itself; devoid of any emotion for any potential listeners.

"My mother says that only cowards lack choice in their actions. It doesn't surprise me in the least that you would count amongst their ranks." He didn't seem to have a response for that. Louise remained thus, staring into the dark sky beyond and pointedly not turning around, for as long as she possibly could. Eventually, however, curiosity got the better of her. She turned around.

Wardes wasn't even looking at her. He was staring into the middle distance between them; transfixed by something visible only in the recesses of his mind. She frowned and stepped gingerly closer. There was something off about him. He'd cast his hat aside and even removed his cloak; both were laying on the ground with no further thought given to them. Now that she really looked at him the man looked simply awful.

His eyes were red and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. She hadn't noticed that during the ceremony. In fact, she was sure he'd looked much healthier then. His breathing seemed to be slightly heavy and the way he sat indicated he was favouring his right side. As if some pain suffused his left.

"You're right. I had a choice. Once. I made the wrong one. Now there are no other paths left to me, and I am rapidly losing value to the one I serve. Once he has you…" Wardes let out a mirthless chuckle. "I suspect I will not be long for this world, my dear. He'll have what he needs then. The legendary Void Mage." Then he looked her in the eyes and she felt her stomach drop into the floor.

"You… what do you mean? Explain yourself at once!" Yet the infuriating man merely chuckled and slowly shook his head.

"I'm not surprised you never figured it out. I wouldn't know the details either, but they were explained to me a few years ago. There are two main factors for identifying a Void Mage." He held up his wand, not the swordwand still sheathed at his side, and waved it vaguely. "First; their magic always fails in some way. They definitively _have_ magic, of course, but they cannot perform normal spells of the Four Elements."

Thoughts were churning like waves in Louise's head as he spoke. How had she never thought of it? Well, because it would have seemed heretical to even entertain the notion. Clearly she was magically _able_ , if not entirely capable, but her spells all failed spectacularly. Why? There was no reason. Unless... "And then the second interesting feature. They always summon a humanoid familiar." What? That made no sense… yet, Guiche... of course, their spells had been intertwined. It was a miracle they had succeeded at all.

"Naturally, my master was, heh, ecstatic when I informed him that _two_ individuals at the Tristainian Academy had summoned humanoid familiars." Part way through the sentence Wardes had let out a curious little laugh that Louise couldn't understand. "Process of elimination meant it was you. Congratulations, Louise." The words seemed to ring hollow. She could see it in his eyes; even he didn't mean them.

"... you said you made the wrong choice. What was it?" If nothing else she desperately wanted to understand how the kind and noble man she thought she'd known had really been this pathetic wretch all along.

"It's… no, it's not a long story, exactly. My mother was a magical researcher, much like…" He shook his head and grimaced as she glared at him. "In any case. She fell into madness. Took her own life. I searched and searched, desperately trying to find out why. All I could find in her journal was the last thing she'd written. A symbol scrawled in her own blood." The story had taken a turn that Louise hadn't expected and she couldn't help but feel some pangs of sympathy for him.

That didn't mean she would show it, however. Much as Saito did she kept her gaze impassive and level. An effect slightly ruined by the fact that Wardes seemed unwiling to look at her; instead appearing engrossed in the ceiling as he leaned back and continued with his tale. "I sought that symbol for so long, Louise. Then, by sheer chance, I found it. A tattoo on a woman's hand. A servant to the King of Gallia." There was a faint trembling that seemed to be filling Wardes; a barely perceptible shaking was moving through his body as he spoke in a soft, dispassionate tone.

Louise found a chill running down her spine with no apparent cause. Something about his manner was putting her on edge. "I spoke to him. And he told me what my mother had found. What he had found. There was a calamity coming that would destroy all of Halkegenia. One which he could save me from. Not only me; but also those I cared about. More than that, he…" And here Wardes' mask finally cracked just as emotion choked up his voice. "He showed me her. My mother. Brought her back to life right in front of me. Perfect in _every_ detail. And promised me that nobody I loved would ever need to die again if only I served him."

Such a blandishment… Louise's heat was torn. If someone told her they could save her mother, restore her to the peak of health immediately… would she be able to say no? Yet Wardes' expression was decidedly not that of a man that had received everything he wanted. "I agreed. And that was a mistake. It had all seemed to make sense at first. There was such an elegant plan… control the nations from within. At first it was just information. But then he asked me to _act_. At first it was fine, until…" Wardes sighed.

"He asked too much of you, didn't he?" Louise had guessed this part already, yet when he nodded she felt an odd sense of relief. Even so, clearly he still referred to that man as his master. Therefore… "What did they do to you, Jean Jacques?" He was very still for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he unbuttoned his shirt halfway and opened it to show her a small black spot on his skin just above the heart.

"It's called 'Blight'. A magical malady of some sort. Held in check entirely by the willpower of my patron. If he releases that will then it will expand. The effect…" Wardes' face went a little green at the memory he had to recall for this. "Is variable. Either I will become a shambling, undead _thing_ that still acts at his behest. Else my flesh will essentially gain the consistency of weathered glass. My own heartbeat would kill me then." The almost innocuous spot did seem to have a strange reflectiveness to its surface and merely seeing it was making her feel rather ill.

Louise's head was reeling from all of this and the sensation didn't help. She stood and stumbled to her bed; collapsing upon it. There she lay for a time as she tried to sort out her thoughts and feelings. Willingly or no, he'd still threatened her family. Still hurt people. Ones she cared for deeply. He'd tried to murder Saito; who, she now knew, was clearly far more than he appeared to be. That was an entirely different breakdown for an entirely different time.

In the end she sat up and faced him with a sort of melancholy resolve. Because in the end there were plenty of reasons for what he had done, yes. But no excuses. None that Louise could accept from him. Not after what he'd done. What he'd been a part of.

"I understand you quite well now, Jean-Jacques. And I do pity you greatly. Nevertheless." She fixed him with her most steely gaze and stared straight into his eyes. There she saw hope and pain and sadness beyond measure. None of which swayed her in the least. "I cannot forgive you any of your actions. You are as much a coward as I first thought you and when your master kills you for delivering me it will be no less than you deserve."

Nothing else passed between them after that. Wardes eventually broke eye contact first and stood; leaving the room in silence. There was nothing for him to say. He must have known he was damned from the moment he chose this path. Even so; he had to have known it could never end well.

And yet, as Louise collapsed upon her bed and cried into her pillow, she still wasn't sure if she had told him the truth.

* * *

"Evidence from the wreckage seems to indicate, your Majesty, that the fleet was not from Albion. It appears to have been Gallian in design; though flying the flag of the Reconquista." General Tréville relayed the results of the report to the war council with a heavy heart. If this news were true it made them all the more fools for it; voices had cried out for war with the Albionese rebels and Germania in equal measure but _nobody_ had foreseen this madness. The Queen pursed her lips with genteel dignity.

"I see. Details for which we have independent verification?" The Royal Messenger himself, Count Mott, nodded and stepped up with a letter in hand. Its gold-leafed wax seal had been broken of course but he still handed it over reverentially; as he did so the Cardinal Mazarin made the holy sign of Brimir across his chest.

"A letter from Pope Aegis Thirty-Two, your Majesty, delivered by General Iulius of the First Divine Legion. The Holy Church of Romalia has declared a Crusade against the Reconquista in light of past events." Some of the older men in the room groaned heavily and more than one person looked outright ashamed. What an embarrassment this was turning out to be. "He verified the findings before returning in his personal vessel to Romalia, where he will be petitioning his Holiness to change targets."

"A small grace, but not a short journey. With their fleet gone Gallia will be at a disadvantage but they may well have unloaded troops before releasing their abominations upon our troops." Lord Dampierre grumbled out his pessimistic opinion but nobody could contradict him here. The Queen did not sigh but still looked to one of the younger men in the room; the Viscount de Aumal and, to his misfortune, current leader of the Manticore Knights.

"How are young Gramont and his familiar doing? I understand they were instrumental in turning the tide of the engagement." Aumal nodded and glanced at his copy of the repot for a moment.

"Indeed, your Majesty. With the help of a local by name of… 'Jeima', he was able to retrieve some mystical artifact that had been concealed in the town of Tarbes for safekeeping by said man's ancestor. It was inordinately effective against these 'Wights'. As for the pair, they are currently at convalesence within the castle" The Queen nodded and looked over to the Maquis de Turenne.

"Henri, that town falls within your lands, does it not?" The man nodded slowly, unsure of his Queen's point. "Are you especially attached to it?" That made the rotund man scoff slightly and shake his head.

"Not particularly, Majesty. I had to be reminded it was mine when we picked the plain for the muster point. You may do with it as you will." The Queen smiled at him and then gestured for Mott to approach.

"Take note, Count. I hereby grant the village of Tarbes and all the associated lands along with the title of Baron to one Jeima of Tarbes. Unless his family line ceases with no heir apparent they shall retain the rights in perpetuity, regardless of magical capability. Are there any objections?" There was some muttering of discontent but nobody could muster up any true complaints. While the man was common as muck to their mind he had still volunteered a truly powerful item that had indeed saved a great many lives.

"I have heard that the young ladies of Tarbes are possessed of a particular beauty. With a title available, perhaps some of your younger sons might like to join the family?" Mott's suggestion brightened their expressions somewhat; a potential title, however minor, for their second or third sons that came with land of its own that didn't need to be carved out of their own estates would be quite welcome. The Queen nodded, evidently pleased, and continued.

"In addition, I shall be granting the title of Chevalier to Guiche de Gramont and Kenneth Manson alike. I realise that the latter is neither a citizen of Tristain nor even human; however, I think we can agree that they deserve this and more." According to the report the dwarf had managed to lose an arm in the fighting, though it was a little unclear on the details for some reason, which was proof enough of his ferocity.

Although there were a few dark spots in the events that had unfolded which needed to unravelled, particularly regarding the execution of allied soldiers mid-combat, by all accounts both had conducted themselves with immense valour. A vast majority of the tainted dragons had been slain by Ser Manson, and Guiche had ended the initial battle almost single-handedly.

"Very good. Now then, it is clear that we are facing an enemy with grave and unholy power at their disposal. I suggest we reach out to Germania for assistance in this conflict." A titter of consternation filled the room but the Queen silenced it with no more than a quirked brow. "Gentlemen. We face a crisis unlike any in the history of our fair Tristain. As it stands, it seems unlikely that whatever plans King Joseph has for us will stop at our borders. He has demonstrated a willingness to attack without provocation and in a time of peace. There is also good reason to believe he is responsible for the death of Prince-"

She was cut off by a vigorous knocking at the door. Frowning, Count Mott went to open it and berate the servant on the other side for their interruption; only to find that it was no servant at all but a Knight red-faced and gasping for air.

"Y-your… Majesty…" He wheezed and stumbled into the room; grabbing on to Mott for support much to the man's clear dismay. "There's… troop… Knights… approaching gate… Albion flag…" The Queen's expression grew even darker at that word and her response practically dripped with malice.

"Ah, the _Reconquista_ shows their hand at last I see. Aumal, take wing with your best men and apprehend these impost-" Then, much to everyone's clear surpise, the Knight cut off his own Queen with a frantic explosion of words.

"No, your Majesty! Their leader is… it's Prince Wales, ma'am!"


	34. Despair and Hope

"Ah, you must be Francisque. I've heard a lot about your talents." The King of Gallia was smiling at him. They were standing in a courtyard in the _Royal Palace_ and there was a _King_ shaking his hand. Of an entire country. Who'd brought him here. To do a portrait.

"We have a great many things to talk about." He could hear his father's voice but couldn't see him. The sunset behind the King made for a beautiful image, but the darkness of the light was hard to paint by. For some reason he couldn't move his hand properly; the chains around his wrists were making it difficult.

"Tell me what you see, boy. Does it bother you?" Francisque cast his eyes about the throne room and frowned. Everything seemed normal. The court stood around; blood from their eyes staining their fine garments. Behind the Black King his throne was pulsing like a beating heart.

There was a dagger in his hand and his father was collapsed in front of him and he was smiling as the servants tackled him to the ground and dragged the weapon out of his hand father wasn't moving but he couldn't stop smiling the sun was burning black screams echoing inside him and everything was fine because he'd done as he was told and now they would let him out.

The desert was endless and the sun was burning black. It pulsed with waves of cold heat that beat down on him. There was… somewhere, an exit but he didn't know where it was. None of them did.

Her mother was hurt. That was impossible. Mother was an untouchable giant. Nothing could hurt her. Éléonore's thesis was on the table and they were discussing it over wine. He stared into her eyes and in his she saw the death of worlds.

Cold skin. Clammy and rubbery, no heartbeat underneath. Too strong to get away. Whispers in her ears. Standing in front of a hole in the ground. Being dragged into the mine but slowly walking as she got closer. Seeing the body growing in the depths. The scale of it all makes her mind rebel.

There's a pistol in her hand. She remembers loading it, but doesn't know why she has it. Her mother is here and she's happy but for some reason she feels tired. When she's hugged the gun goes off. Why? She didn't fire. Her mother is invincible and she's dying on the ground.

The cavern was endless and the sun was burning black. She couldn't see the sky but the unlight from above permeated everything. They were trying to find the way out but nobody could remember how they got here. If you don't know where you were how can you escape?

There can be no light in darkness if the darkness is the light.

Warmth flooded Francisque's body. He looked up and saw that there was a desert in this cavern and the cavern was the desert. His arms and face hurt. Blood was caked under his fingernails but there were a pair of soft hands holding his wrists. Gently, tenderly, but somehow holding him back without any force at all.

A warm light was flowing in from an old-fashioned lamp hanging on the end of a wooden staff. It was set in the sand beside him and the one that presumably owned it was holding him. They were hazy, though; hard to see in the darkness that was constantly trying to consume the light.

He tried to talk but his throat burned. They seemed to understand something, though, and leaned forward; wrapping their arms around him. Whoever they were they were soft and warm and Francisque felt tears running down his face; stinging the scratches on his cheeks and moistening the blood caked there.

Then they stood and took the lamp in one hand and his hand in the other. They gently tugged at him and lead him into the darkness with lamp-staff outstretched. No matter how hard the darkness tried it couldn't penetrate the little bubble of warmth that they carried with them.

Another shape welled up in the darkness. His guide planted the staff in the ground again and walked up to it. Now he could get a good look at both of them. The figure on the ground was in much the same state as him; a blonde woman covered in thin cuts and with blood dripping from their fingertips as they had to be stopped, with that same curious lack of force, by the one who'd stopped him as well.

That one was small. Wearing a plain green cloak. An utterly unassuming young lady with a gentle smile that hugged the blonde and delicately pulled her to her feet. For some reason, he wasn't sure why, Francisque stepped over and supported the woman as she tried to stay standing. She quickly clung on to his side they walked arm-in-arm behind the lamp-bearer as she lead them onwards.

They found more in the darkness. An old man weeping and clawing at his chest. A young girl rocking in place and digging her nails into her cheek. An exquisitely dressed boy gnawing on his own hands. Yet for each one she just took their hands and hugged them close. Francisque watched as they stilled and then began to cry. Not with the pain and anguish they'd had moments ago; but with relief.

He and the blonde separated to offer an arm each to the old man. He left her again to help the young girl. The old man took the hand of the young boy. Together they helped each other like she had helped them. Two had become three had become four had become six, had become ten, had become dozens. Each one holding another; walking together at the edges of the light that held back the endless darkness.

Then something changed. They had found another one, an old woman with torn clothes and streaks of blood running down her head, and their guide had helped her up like all the rest. But then she hadn't continued on. Instead she just stood still and stared into the dark. They began to grow restless. Fearful.

Was the dark a little deeper, or was it in their head? That echo in the distance, was it real or imagined? Francisque tried to speak and found that he could, after a fashion, his throat burning as he forced the word out.

"Why…?" The girl who had been leading them turned around. Her smile seemed strangely sad but still so very warm and her eyes glowed with the green of fresh summer grass.

"It's time to leave." Her words caused a ripple amongst the lost. The blonde woman, carrying a trembling little boy in her arms, pushed forward with a stern yet nervous expression.

"We… we don't know how. There's no way out." Yet their guide just shook her head and sighed.

"You all know the way. It's been with you the whole time. You just couldn't face it." Ice poured into Francisque's veins. Face it… what he'd done… how could he? How could any of them? Everyone was shaking in place, but the girl just walked up to them and took the hand of the nearest person then placed it in that of the person beside them.

"You can do it. What happened was never your fault. All of you helped each other stand. Now walk free. People need you, and you need them. It's going to be alright." She smiled then and raised her staff; the light shining brighter and brighter until it was like a new star, a new sun, burning away at the darkness around them.

Just sand. Just a cave. No horrors. No monsters. No terrors in the dark waiting to ensnare them. "There's never been anything here but you. That's why it worked so well. Nobody can hurt you more than you can hurt yourself. Now you have each other, but that's not what you need. Let go. Forgive yourselves. Be free." Tears were flowing freely down a dozen faces. Regret and pain were freely visible every way you looked. And yet..

"... I'm sorry, Father. I'm so sorry."

Francisque tried to sit up but his muscles weren't working properly. Someone was beside him; pushing him down and calling for help. He looked blearily at them and realised it was their family butler. The old man was restraining him with a single hand. How was that possible?

More servants arrived. One of them passed the butler a small jug and he held it up to Francisque's mouth; pouring water into it. Tomas. That was the man's name. Mister Tomas, when they were boys. The water was cool and soothed the fire in his throat. His head felt like it was stuffed with wool.

"Fa… father… how is…?" The old man looked troubled and glanced at the servants. One shook their head slowly and Tomas sighed; taking Francisque's hand and helping him up with a palm at his back.

"Master Armand is not in a good way, sir. I think we'd best take you to him." Two of them took an arm each, the old man to his right and one of the young to his left, and they helped him out of bed. He looked miserable; cuts and scratches on his arms and ragged fingernails. It felt so familiar, and yet not. Like a bad dream…

Adrien and Maximilien were in the room when they arrived. The former was crouched by the bed, head bowed in prayer, and the latter was holding their father's hand. He was speaking softly, yet loud enough for the man in the bed to hear. He didn't look well at all.

"... and they made Guiche a Knight Captain, father. Head of his own Knightly Order, now. He's overtaken me. They repelled an invasion attempt by Gallia, I heard, and we're to go to war soon. I'll have to leave you here. But Adrien will take good care of you and…" His brother trailed off as Tomas cleared his throat. Both brothers turned at once to see their sibling supported between two servants.

Francisque's heart was pounding. He'd done this. Surely they must hate him. He'd… he'd stabbed… and now their father was… Adrien but Maximilien stood and strode over at once. Before he could try and say anything, though, his brother was hugging him and burying his face into Francisque's shoulder.

"We thought we'd lost you, too. I'm so happy you're alright, brother." His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst. Like it was trying to rip its way out of his chest. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do this. It wasn't your fault." That mantra, repeated in his ear, was like a bucket of cold water. Weakly, Francisque raised his arms and held his brother in turn. They didn't blame him. They didn't hate him. So why did he want to cry so badly?

"Francisque…?" It was a quiet voice. So weak that it broke his heart all over again. Maximilien released him and took over from Tomas; helping his brother desperately hobble over to the bed. Their father had opened his eyes. He was staring blearily at his sons, and a faint smile touched his lips.

"You're all.. no… Guiche is... " The old man's brow furrowed in concentration. "Knight Captain… that fool boy… he didn't need… to do that…" One trembling hand reached out and was placed on Adrien's head. "Your wife… treasure her, boy… if you have a daughter, name her Rosalie. It was… your mother's name."

"Yes, father. Yes. I will, I promise." Adrien cried and bowed his head; wetting the blanket beneath him as he shook and dripped in place. Armand just smiled at him and then reached a hand out for Maximilien. His son took it; dropping to one knee as Tomas came from behind to expertly support Francisque once more.

"My son… be a General, if you wish… but only follow that path for your own sake… not for mine… you should be your own man… not my shadow… no matter what you choose… I will always love you…" Silent tears ran down Maximilien's face and he nodded; unable to speak. Then their father reached for the last son and Francisque reached out; only to hesitate at the last minute.

"Ah… come here, Francisque… it's alright…" He stumbled forward and nearly fell as he went to his knees; bent double and laid down over their father's chest. The old man didn't say anything at first; merely putting a hand on his son's head and gently patting it. Then he gently pushed at Francisque's chin so he looked up.

"I never got you… to paint my portrait… I regret that… I regret… so many things… but not any of you. Francisque… please… don't give up… you must live on… live the life… you dreamed of… with your father's blessing…" He was trembling and he couldn't stop crying. Staring at the pallid visage of their father brought it all back.

Armand reached out and wiped away Francisque's tears with a friendly smile. Though he looked weaker than any of them had ever seen him he also spoke with a quiet resolution and seemed to possess a curious aura of peace. "Tell Guiche… that he can be a hero… tell him that… I will always be proud of him… of all of you… my boys… you are… my finest…"

His hand went still, and then slid down Francisque's cheek. They all sat there in mute incomprehension; staring at the still form of their father where he lay, blankly gazing into space with a smile still on his face. The healer pushed Maximilien aside and put a hand to Armand's neck; shouting at the servants while his sons just sat there.

After a moment Francisque stretched out his hand and gently closed their father's eyes. Beside him Adrien had started openly sobbing. Maximilien was stoic but his sorrow still flowed freely. And yet Francisque had no tears left. His face just ached. He didn't understand.

Thus it was that General Armand de Gramont, known as Armand the Quake, passed away at peace with his life; surrounded by what he considered to be his life's greatest failures and, at the same time, in the company of his finest successes.

* * *

Karine Désirée de la Vallière née Maillart opened her eyes. There was already a startled healer babbling at her as she sat up but she ignored the man and forced herself to her feet. Her legs tried to collapse out from under he but she _refused to let them_. Instead she grabbed the man by his collar and dragged his face up to hers.

" _Where is my daughter?"_

Mere minutes later she was in Éléonore's room; checking her condition. The girl had a mild fever but that was pretty much it. They had strapped some padded gloves to her hands, though, and the scratches on her face and neck explained that. She seemed to be fine. Relief flooded Karin and she finally allowed her screaming body to fail; collapsing to her knees and flopping bodily over her daughter's bed.

The door slammed open behind her and then her husband was picking her up and holding her in his arms; immediately moving her to the second bed in the room. Why it was even there Karin had no idea but Pierre put it to good use fussing over her.

"I'm fine, my love, I'm fine. You know it would take more than that to kill me. More importantly, how is Éléonore? How is Louise? How is Cattelya? What's been going on?" His sudden stillness filled her with a terrible dread and she grasped her husband's arm tightly. "Pierre… what has happened to our daughters?" He was shaking, his face a sudden rictus of terror with one hand covering his mouth.

"They… Éléonore hasn't woken up, but… Viscount Wardes, he… he proposed to Louise and… and I agreed. There was a wedding, but she turned him down at the altar…" Karin was startled by every step of that statement past the first bit, but a growing sense of dread told her the worst was yet to come. "Wardes was… he attacked Saito and took Louise. Cattelya was injured in the fighting, but Saito he… he had magic, and he killed the soldiers and healed Cattelya then went after Louise."

Her mind was reeling. The Viscount was… a traitor? And he kidnapped Louise? She just couldn't reconcile the images in her head of a polite, loyal and talented Knight with a traitorous kidnapper. Pierre wouldn't lie to her. Then there was Saito using magic… she'd always suspected he was hiding something but that hadn't been high on the list.

Still. Two daughters injured and one taken from her. That made for three unforgivable offences in her eyes. Karin clenched her fist and began to tremble as anger overcame her. How dare they. How _dare_ they! In all her years, with all the monsters she'd slain, all the enemies she'd made, not a single one had _ever_ attempted to hurt her family because they just _knew better._

Her anger was quickly deflated for two reasons however. The first thing to draw the wind out of her sails was that she had no target for this rage. Wardes could have been working for any number of nations or even none at all; for all she knew he was simply so grotesquely enamoured with Louise that kidnapping her was all his own design.

Secondly, though, was that Éléonore was suddenly stirring in her bed and all of Karin's attention was focused on this single fact. She impotently smacked her husband until he let her up and supported her as they quickly moved to their daughter's bedside.

Her eyes flickered open and Pierre, bless him, shouted behind him for the healers to come at once. They were there just in time to support Éléonore as she sat up; pushing pillows in behind her, giving her water and carefully checking her vitals. He'd clearly spared no expense, the wonderful man, and each and every last one was a consummate professional.

"... mother?" Éléonore seemed dazed and confused; staring at her own covered hands as well as her mother's face in turn. She was trembling slightly and fear was gathering in her expression. Before she could ask anything more, though, Karin squirmed out of her husband's grasp and wrapped her arms around her daughter.

"Thank the Founder… I thought we had lost you. I'm so glad you're okay." She could feel the girl shaking in her grip but didn't let her go. Éléonore started crying and her mother shortly followed suit and then Pierre was hugging both of them and he was crying as well and it was all just too much.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, mother… I didn't want to… I tried to stop myself, but… it was like I was lost in some dark place and I couldn't find my way out…" Karin shook her head and pulled back; wiping her tears on her sleeve and trying to smile for her daughter's sake.

"I know. I know you'd never want to hurt me, my dear. I'm just… I'm so happy you're alright." They held each other for a time until the healers finally pried them apart so they could keep examining Éléonore. Fortunately it seemed that she was in more or less good health aside from being a little malnourished. They also healed the scratches that had been left on her as they hadn't wanted to use magic on her when she was in an unknown state.

Then, with great care, Karin set about finding out exactly what had happened to her daughter before the attack. The more questions she asked the more her blood began to boil once more. All that Éléonore recalled was a servant of the King of Gallia coming to obtain her services for some academic project. That meant one of two things; either the culprit of the attack was the King or else he had allowed her daughter to be attacked under his watch.

Her suspicions, however, pointed towards the former. King Joseph's brother had died under suspicious circumstances, normal enough for Gallia, but then his rule had become unstable and erratic. A number of the upper Nobility had left the Capital for their countryside estates and dark rumours had abounded of strange goings on in his court.

In the light of the Reconquista and the usual agressions from Germania this had all rather fallen by the wayside but now Karin had a horrible feeling. Albion's revolution had come out of nowhere; falling in line behind an apparently charismatic leader and turning the nation against its masters. Only what if that wasn't true? Somehow, her daughter had been made to return home and try to murder her own mother. That stank of magic of the foulest sort.

They laid Éléonore to bed and, at her request, Pierre helped Karin to her study. She fumbled with her desk until she found the hidden button and pressed it; a secret panel concealed in the woodwork opening up to reveal a small black journal. He looked at her with an air of concern as she pulled it out and began to flip through it; reaching for a quill and pen.

"Many of them came when you were injured. I can remember who." She nodded; writing lone names on paper and then starting a fresh sheet. Picking out those whose debts to here were still outstanding, and those who she could stand to owe a debt. Even some of those she normally wouldn't care to be indebted to. This was _important._

Over the years Karin had accumulated an awful lot of good will from a lot of dangerous people. Now someone had attacked her nation and her family both. So she was going to call in every favour she could, and then some. Whether or not Gallia was ultimately responsible _someone_ was going to pay for this.

She would make sure of that.

* * *

In this one room were gathered the most skilled Elves in all the Holy Land. They called upon the Spirits' aid and together wove their power into a mighty wall that circled around _It._ The last and most terrible remnant of the horrors wrought upon their nation by the Wielder of Void.

Even if the thing had long since been neglected their traditions had dictated a watch be maintained over it at all times. When the alarm had been sounded none had truly believed it was real yet all had answered immediately. The alternative was unthinkable. When it had last opened the _things_ that spilled out had nearly ruined them all. They were determined not to let it happen again.

 _Shaitan's Gate_ was barely visible behind the web of protective magic they had woven around it. Everyone could tell, however, that they hadn't managed to prevent it from opening. Such a thing was beyond even their combined power. Hopefully they could contain the outbreak long enough for a resistance force to be assembled. Yet even that hope was faint as some indistinct shape from within stepped forward and, to their collective horror, effortlessly rent their barrier asunder.

What stood before the now-closing Gate was not, however, the collection of horrors they had been expecting. These things had the expected number of limbs and faces, the correct amount of hands and torsos. They weren't already twisting to form living weapons nor leaping forward to vivisect the assembled Elves. Instead they seemed to be regarding the gathering fairly dispassionately.

Seven of the group were dressed nearly identically; clad in red cloaks that caused a strange sense of unease to look upon and wearing a wide variety of masks. The one at the front's was adorned with curious red and black markings; they were sheathing a strange dagger that all the Spirits present were recoiling from.

Then one of the Elves noticed the eyes. They were golden, and glowing, and even that description fell short because they looked like they were made of molten, shimmering gold. The light pouring from them left a trail as they turned their head and gazed rather conspicuously at the unseen Spirits all around.

The eighth member of the group was not, however, content to wait. They stood some three full metres tall and were armoured head to toe with heavy plate over their arms and legs and a brigandine with extra lamellar plating over top. Their full helm was embossed with the visage of a snarling wolf but lacked any additional adornment that would have affected its protective value.

They also carried a vast warhammer with a head easily comparable in size to an anvil. This weapon was pointed at the assembled Elves as they barked out something in an unheard-of language, then turned to speak in turn to the golden-eyed one beside them.

"... it's a trick! Capture them, quickly!" One of the Elves broke the tension with a shout and either the group could understand their language or they sensed the sudden hostility in the air because six of seven immediately leapt forward with a speed and ferocity that eclipsed the Elves' own.

Coloured lights glowed on their bodies as they flew forward. Shards of ice formed but then struck invisible barriers and shattered instantly; only Elves capable of using 'Counter' were present in this room as only that magic gave one a fighting chance against their ancient foes. Likewise, bolts of fire or blades of wind were dispersed and spikes of stone bursting out of the ground ceased mid-motion and split apart.

Though the Elves were relieved to see their defences so effective their nerves had still been damaged by the near-instantaneous assault. When they struck back moments later their blows met only empty air; the attackers almost melting away as they retreated to their original positions and seemed to be forming a defensive line. Snarling loudly as they went the giant in front stepped forward and swung their massive weapon with two hands directly at the Elf who had called out.

The attack's force was dissipated by 'Counter', but even the dispersed impact caused the ground to crack around him. It had come out with such speed and force that he'd been utterly unable to react to it; even with the six before the Elves had been caught mid-dodge but this was on an entirely different level. Although his spell was still going strong he'd felt it tremble in response to the impact and that was an utterly unique sensation.

Then the titanic figure raised their maul above their head and roared.

 ** _"_** ** _ZAL-MARIK!"_**

The head of their weapon had, on the striking surface, the impression of a monstrous face. Its 'eyes' lit up with a golden glow at the strange war cry, and runes inscribed on the sides of the hammers began to shine with an ethereal blue light that formed curious flames about the weapon that seemed to solidify into a glassy shape for only an instant before shattering into an new position.

When they swung it again a clear, beautiful sound rang out in its wake. The Elf did his best to leap backwards and this was all that saved him. That tremendous blow met his protective barrier and _something_ flowed into it. An instant later he felt it split open and the hammer passed neatly through the space his chest had been occupying only a moment before. He was just _barely_ clipped by it at the zenith of the swing and even that sent him flying backwards and spinning sideways with what felt like a shattered shoulder.

Another Elf turned to cry out a command as the titan recovered from their swing yet fell silent when they felt a faint pricking sensation on their neck. Unseen and unstoppable the golden-eyed one had appeared behind them at some point. Their bizarrely-shaped dagger had passed through the 'Counter' field like it wasn't even there and was now pressed against their neck.

Then they began to speak; quietly, calmly, even in a friendly tone as they cycled through language, after language, after language, after language. Everyone had gone very still at this strange attempt at diplomacy. Finally, on the tenth attempt, they spoke in a tongue that the Elf recognised; it belonged to one of the human nations across the sea.

"How about this one?" They swallowed heavily; restraining the urge to nod and instead weakly replying in kind.

"Yes… yes, I understand it. Who are you? What do you want?" The titan shifted forward and everyone tensed; but they only laid their maul down on the ground and pulled their helmet off. Underneath was a furious looking woman with thick red hair that had somehow been contained within the depths of that helm. When she spoke it was with a thick accent that didn't suit the they were using at all and with a barely restrained rage that chilled the blood.

"My name is _Red_ , and I want you damned heathens to tell me one thing!" She reared her head back and roared so loudly that every single Elf within nearly a mile of the Gate could hear it. Even her own companions covered their ears.

 ** _"_** ** _WHERE IS MY HUSBAND!"_**


	35. Bronze and Resolution

"Thus I suffer love's inconstancies, and when I think the pain is most intense, without thinking, it is gone again." Guiche de Gramont was leaning on parapet of his room's balcony within the Royal Palace of Tristain; reciting with quiet surety a particular poem he remembered from his verses. There was a letter clutched in his hand that he idly stroked the surface of while he stared into the evening.

Behind him the door to the balcony opened, but he paid it no mind; simply continuing to orate into the empty air. "Then when I feel my joys certain, and my hour of greatest delight arrived, I find my pain beginning all over once again." He chuckled then but still didn't turn his head. "I always found it curious as a child that Lady Labé didn't use a traditional rhyming meter. You know, it was one of the first poems I remember encountering that didn't."

"No. I didn't know that." Montmorency moved to stand beside him; joining Guiche in watching the sun slowly descend toward the horizon. "I fear there's a lot I don't know about you, Guiche." There was a certain sorrow to her tone and a vague melancholy on her face. She looked at the black cloak he still wore even now and shivered slightly. He'd taken to wearing it in place of his blue one as of late. Nobody knew what had happened to his hat but he hadn't been seen wearing it since…

"Perhaps it's a misunderstanding. Surely Sir Wardes would never…" She fell silent a moment later, however, on seeing Guiche clench his suddenly at the mention of that name. The letter was crumpled a little more before he could force himself to relax. Those words had felt hollow even to her. It was difficult to reconcile the charming, fatherly manner of their former instructor with the news brought in by Duke Vallière's letter.

"It's funny… a few things make sense, now." There was a wry grimace on Guiche's face as he began to reminisce; mocking his current self for his past self's naivete. "I had wondered about the mission he'd failed; particularly once I learned the details later on. How a mere common soldier could have murdered the Prince of Albion right under _his_ nose. Now I know." He allowed himself a humourless chuckle; still not meeting the gaze of the girl beside him.

"... Guiche?" Now he did, though, because it would be criminal not to grant a lady his full attention when she spoke to him with such a nervous, even fearful, tone. The concern was writ large across her features and though they were somewhat marred by it she remained as beautiful as ever. Which made her next words all the more heartbreaking. "Do you… love me?" He sighed and fought the urge to look away once more. That would have been… unfair.

"I don't know, Monmon. I just… don't know." Her face didn't fall any, as if she had been expecting the answer, but she still broke off her gaze and bit her lip. He reached out and took her hands in his; gently squeezing the delicate fingers with his own. "It is not that I don't care for you, my sweet flower, but… I can only admit now that I first sought you ought for truly shallow, utterly boorish reasons." Guiche looked down with shame; only for Montmorency to pull a hand free and lift his chin for him.

"I understand, Guiche. Believe me I… I understand. I fear I only accepted your advances because you were handsome and outwardly charming. At the time I even knew of your womanising nature and overlooked it because of the sweet words you spoke to me… yet I never truly entrusted you with my heart. I even tried to claim your affections by force…" She trailed off after metaphorically punching him in the gut a few times. Not that the shots weren't well-deserved, of course.

"Truly, we are but strangers, are we not?" His laugh this time was more genuine if still rather self-deprecating. Fueled by the irony of realising the young woman he'd expressed his eternal affection for on multiple occasions was someone he knew as much about as some of the Academy's servants.

"I suppose we are, at that." Poor Monmon seemed a little less amused by the situation than he did. Then again, he'd developed a somewhat unique perspective on the notion of remorse after inheriting the Aurora Requiem. "And the situation somewhat precludes us growing any closer, doesn't it?" The dear girl looked to be on the verge of tears, in fact.

"I fear it does. However…" Guiche allowed one last little indulgence and moved forward to take her into his arms; feeling her trembling against his chest like some timid forest creature. "I told you, didn't I? The cloak uses my laments as fuel for its power. It showed me every moment of regret I had when I wielded it." He pulled back; holding her face between his hands and gently wiping her tears with his thumb. "Whatever it was that we had, just know that I didn't see a single moment of it in the Aurora. You have my word on that."

He returned to holding her after that and, much to his surprise, the moment was allowed to be and pass without interruption. It was a rather unusual moment because of that but he didn't let that stop him from enjoying it. When it was done he patted Montmorency on the shoulder and saw her to the door with a smile on his face.

Once she was gone he returned to the balcony door and resumed his wistful staring without stepping back out just yet. It wasn't that he wasn't going to miss her, because he was, and it certainly wasn't that he didn't like her, because he did, but rather… he'd come to realise more and more, as had she, that they had very little in common except for their mutual attractiveness.

"Do you think I did the right thing, Derf?" In the corner of the room what could have easily been mistaken for an ordinary suit of armour creaked into motion. With Kenneth's arm lost it had fallen to Guiche to make the necessary modifications to his friend's new body. The work hadn't been too hard, actually, since he'd long ago abandoned a lot of the original design of his Valkyries.

After Kenneth had made some scathing points about what their _extremely_ obvious, ah, 'femininity' had said about Guiche's level of maturity he'd toned that down significantly in the first set of changes. His final design still had a sense of grace and delicacy to them whilst still being significantly more functional. For Derf, however, he'd replaced the chest plate and face plate so that the newly animate armour could be a bit more expressive while also feeling a bit more like the masculine self-ideal that he had.

"None of my wielders were ever particularly great with the ladies, partner. Even my maker was pretty unlucky in love." Derflinger shrugged, clattering a little as he did so, and then briefly grinned at the mere fact that he'd been able to express himself as such. "That said… I liked the girl well enough. She was a dab hand at polishing and all. But you're the only one who can make the call, in the end.."

Guiche nodded. Ever since the incident with the love potion he'd had… doubts. With all the events unfolding, however, there hadn't really been _time_ to address it. After following him had put Montmorency into unnecessary danger he'd decided he needed to bite the blade and finally talk to her. There were a few things he wished he'd said already. That he was proud of her for being willing to follow him, for one.

"After this is all over I'll see her again. Perhaps we can have a proper go of it then." The words sounded hollow to him, though. He shook it off and turned with a renewed smile on his face. "Come along. I think I saw riders headed for the gate. Perhaps the delegation from Germania has arrived. Shall we go see?"

"Sounds entertaining, partner." The sentient golem picked up a tabard and slung it over himself; the symbol of House de Gramont proudly emblazoned on the front. There had been, initially, a small amount of fuss regarding his status as a person as well as whether or not he fell under various religious restrictions regarding 'unholy beings' that had all been rather pointedly settled by Guiche forthrightly declaring that Derf was his personal squire and offering to duel anyone who cared to disagree.

For some reason the delivery of that particular ultimatum, distributed as it was by the still-singed and battle-worn Guiche with one-armed familiar standing at his side, had put an end to the debate regarding the potentially heretical nature of his friend.

They strapped their swords on as they left, Guiche's rose-hilted blade at his side and Derf's far less delicate broadsword in a special Kenneth-approved sheathe on his back, and together departed for the entry hall downstairs. As they approached there seemed to be some measure of chaos growing in the halls; people rushing to and fro like headless chickens and screaming calls to action rising. When an actual alarm bell began to ring Guiche finally acted; dashing up to and catching a passing guard by the arm.

"Good heavens, man, you look a fright. Whatever is going on?" The panic-stricken warrior gave Guiche a look of shock that morphed into great relief.

"Sir! I mean, Lord Gramont! The Queen has been murdered, and the Princess has been taken hostage!"

* * *

The approaching Prince was received in the throne room by Queen Marianne and Princess Henrietta, along with most of the court and a plethora of guards. He had not come alone but with soldiers of his own; men armed and armoured with the garments of the former Royal Guard of Albion. Yet the party as a whole assented to turn over their arms before entering the palace and were pointedly escorted inside _not_ at musket point.

That is to say, the members of the Princess' Musketeer Corps were keeping up the rear at a respectable distance with weapons loaded but not actively aimed at the backs of the visitors. There was a distinct air of distrust in all those who saw the party; one that the Prince regarded with a dignified aura of melancholy.

When they entered the throne room itself he moved to the appropriate distance, paused and then bowed; first to the Queen and then to the Princess. When he righted himself he looked at her with an expression of pained longing but shortly returned to a polite smile.

"Your Majesty, Wales Tudor, Prince of Albion, and retainers, presents themselves to your court. I humbly beg your forgiveness for not sending word of our arrival." The mannerisms and tone of voice, the way he stood and smiled, they were all… perfect. Marianne quite deliberately did not frown, and glanced at her daughter. Henrietta was similarly tense.

"We forgive you, Prince Wales. We are most relieved to see that the rumours of your demise were greatly exaggerated." For some reason her words caused the Prince to chuckle and slowly shake his head.

"Ah… Unfortunately, Your Majesty, while Viscount Wardes did lie to you about a great many things that was not one of them." A ripple of murmured conversation passed through the few members of court in attendance and every guard suddenly fell into readiness. Wales continued with a calm, crisp voice and a faint smile on his face. "The Viscount struck true, when I least expected it, striking me in the heart with a bolt of lightning."

He looked to Henrietta; pain and concern writ across his features. "Fear not, my beloved, I died instantly; there was no pain. I swear, my last thoughts were of you." That caused as much a stir as the revelation that the Prince was some sort of unholy revenant. The Cardinal in particular was growing quite red in the corner.

"How comest you to be standing before us, then?" The Queen felt her wand concealed in the sleeve of her regal gown and allowed the impropriety of a frown. Whatever foul shade he might be this visage of the Prince had yet to offer any actual hostility towards them.

"Ah, now that is a grand tale, Your Majesty. Firstly, it must be made clear to you that Wardes was acting not on the orders of the Reconquista, but on the orders of King Joseph of Gallia." Harsh mutters of vindication abounded. "Likewise, the Reconquista itself was created entirely by His Majesty. I'm sad to say that there was nothing mystical about it, though. Cromwell was merely given the resources to act on his ambitions. Rather shameful to think we had such an abundance of traitors."

The entire thing was confounding the Queen. Such effort had been put into so perfect a replica that hadn't hesitated to out itself, yet continued to keep up the act so perfectly. "In any case, my remains were secured and returned to King Joseph. Then, when he had need of me, he restored me to life in full." By way of demonstration Prince Wales placed his hand in his mouth and bit down hard on one of his fingers.

When he held it out visible red blood dripped to the floor while the Prince smiled at them. "Though, it seems some of my perspectives have been altered by the process. My former self would have been unwilling to give so obvious a demonstration due to how very painful it was, but I find I'm not especially bothered by pain any more. Likewise, as you may have guessed, I have come here on the instruction of King Joseph to carry his words to you. Perhaps my loyalty to him should give me cause for consternation but it doesn't appear to."

Marianne could see that her daughter was trembling in place. Wales seemed to notice that as well and he looked to her with sadness in his face. "I'm sorry for upsetting you, my dear. Rest assured, my feelings towards you have not changed at all with my new lease on life." That didn't actually help any, and Henrietta began to freely cry. The Prince sighed and looked away.

"Well, since you have come to bring us word of your new _master_ then you may as well do so. Speak your piece, revenant, and then begone from our sight." She had humoured the thing that wore Wales' face for long enough now, and she wouldn't distress her daughter any further.

"Oh, very well. Thus speaks Joseph, Black King of Gallia." Wales drew himself up, eyes shining with the light of a true zealot, and spoke with conviction and zeal that could put a fire and brimstone preacher to shame. "I address you, o Queen, as a fellow ruler of a doomed land. Struggle if you will, surrender if you wish, attack if you must. Be they yours or mine, every death shall merely fuel my victory."

The Prince smiled sadly. "His words, I'm afraid, not mine. Though, given I am technically meant to be King of Albion, I'd have to echo them. No matter what you do at this point, Your Majesty, you can't beat him. He's won. In truth, it was only a matter of waiting in the first place but he grew tired of that."

He shook his head and shrugged with a half-hearted sort of devil-may-care feel. "Germania will go to war because the Emperor's son is delivering a similar message to myself. They'll slaughter our troops and we'll slaughter theirs and it will all add up. And it doesn't matter that I've told you that, either, because you'll go to war too. You have to, don't you? I know well enough how nations work, Your Majesty." The worst bit was that he wasn't wrong.

Founder damn him, but he wasn't wrong. There was too much momentum, too many aggrieved parties, too many bruised egos and worse besides. Word of Tarbes was spreading through the commonfolk and as much as they had grievances with the Nobility, be they legitimate or not, they were already enraged by the idea of some foreign power having tried to kill them off.

The Reconquista had only worked because it had looked internal. If a foreign power had tried to incite a similar rebellion they would have utterly failed. Similarly, the Tristanian public had been infuriated by an attack on their Lords and Ladies. Even if you resented your taxes and hated your master and would gladly see them run down in the street you'd lynch the foreigner that dared to speak against them because it wasn't their place, it was yours.

That was how it worked. Marianne knew that was how it worked. Here and now, though, it was working against her. If what Wales said was true and she tried to stop the war then the people would turn on her just as quickly as the Nobles. Those who hadn't been here, hadn't seen the confidence in his eyes, heard the certainty in his voice, would tell her she was a fool for believing him. Even some of those who had might do the same.

"Especially given my last order, which I must now carry out with some regret." Wales bowed to the Queen and then raised his hand; a dozen muskets and half a dozen wands all pointed at him the moment he did. Yet he paid them no mind and closed his fist. When he did so the six retainers all collapsed at once like puppets with their strings cut and flopped on the floor.

This so shocked those assembled that they weren't able to, for the most part, properly respond to what happened next. Wales held out his palm, a symbol that was painful to gaze upon appearing on its surface, and black fire burned its way into reality. The air itself seemed to bubble and crack and flake away as the evidently unholy energies came into being.

It formed a fist-sized ball in an instant that struck across the distance and struck Queen Marianne in the chest; a ten-centimetre circle of her gown becoming dust and the pale skin underneath blackening as flesh went instantly from healthy to a state of ancient putrefaction.

As the Queen fell forward out of her seat and rolled down the throne's stairs everyone else caught up with the moment. The crack of a dozen muskets sounded in the room and a moment later a dozen bullets caught Wales in the back while two small balls of regular flame, a hand-sized shard of ice, a streak of lightning and a needle of wind struck him in the front. Henrietta stared, frozen with abject horror, as he bounced back and forth between the forces for a moment before collapsing himself.

The only other Water Mage in the room, Princess aside, rushed to the Queen and began to cast spells. Everyone else just milled about in mute, useless shock. Some of the Musketeers moved up to check on the Prince's body when, rather startlingly, the bodies of his retainers started to shake.

Then they rose; skin falling off in black flakes that hit the ground with a sound like raining glass. Flesh bubbled and twisted and curled as well; the bones beneath becoming very distinct as cords of muscle unfurled from their mooring points and realigned themselves. Something like obsidian was growing from their fingers as the bones visible grew and lengthened and fused together.

It wasn't a slow process but the musketeers had long since opened fire to no avail. Their bullets struck true and then nothing much happened at all after that; they seemed incapable of damaging the new bones of the _things_ and their muscles just pushed out the lead balls as they rearranged themselves into something better.

Magic was similarly ineffectual; fire in particular struck and took hold and then turned suddenly white, or possibly black, as it burned itself up from the inside leaving only faint wisps of smoke. In the eyes of each creature was a pitch black flame that burned up the light around it; creating the impression of a yawning void in their sockets.

Then the Prince stood as well and although he seemed quite normal still the unholy sigil that he'd shone before had replaced his right pupil. He turned his gaze upon the nobles one by one and from the matching sigil on his palm gifted each with a rather more bountiful torrent of the same dark fire that had struck down the Queen. They screamed as it burned at their flesh and yet at the same time did not; their skin became taut as year after year was seared out of it.

Each one fell in turn as the musketeers died behind him. His minions had finished configuring themselves and leapt upon them quickly enough. The newly formed blades on their forearms or fingers were tinged with black fire that caused the chainmail armour to rust away with a single slice. Death came with a second; their internal organs being perforated and then immediately festering.

Wales glanced at them for a moment and then nodded to himself; turning back and walking toward the last remaining Noble in the room. Princess excepted, of course. She was pale and frozen in place; petrified with fear. The Noble, to his credit, paid the carnage no mind whatsoever; focusing utterly on the spells he was working on the Queen.

The Prince ignored him; stepping around him and walking up the shorter stairs to Henrietta's seat and holding his hand out to her with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry, my love, but I'm afraid you must come with me now." At last, still trembling, she managed to force out words.

"How… how could you… you profess to love me still and yet you do this? You are not my darling Wales, but some monster that has stolen his body!" Her words seemed to hurt the abomination and its expression twisted for a moment. She shook as it reached for her and stroked her chin. The fingertips were warm, not cold like she had expected, and the touch gentle.

"My dearest Henrietta… before the lake I swore an oath to you in the hope that I would one day have the bravery to take your hand in mine, and show our love to the world." She cried freely as the Prince, her Prince, spoke to her with a soft and delicate tone. "I fear that, in my heart, I knew I never could. I had not the courage, and it was such impropriety… yet, now, I am freed of such concerns. I've no intention of harming you, but I am afraid I must take you now."

He pulled away from her and walked towards one of his monsters which now approached him. Each one had one hand with sharp fingers and another well and truly weaponised; either formed into an obsidian-bone sword or else with knives in place of their fingertips. Yet this one hand a long blade growing from its arm as well; Wales grasped it just above the wrist and calmly snapped it off and flicked it through the air a few times.

"Excellent. Now then, my dear, let us be away." The disarmed monster began to regrow its hand as two walked up and grasped the Princess by her upper arms; dragging her roughly off the throne but taking care not to dig their sharp talons into her skin. As the group walked away he glanced to the last Nobleman, still desperately pouring out every last ounce of his Willpower into his monarch. "Good luck with Her Majesty, Mott. I do hope you can save her!"

The Count didn't even look up as Wales left with his Princess.

* * *

Guiche sprinted through the halls, a loud clanking marking Derflinger following his path, with one hand on the sword at his waist and grim determination on his face. That was his only support at present; Kenneth was in town with his smith supplier trying to cobble together a new arm and Saito was still unaccounted for.

The sounds of battle were growing more vigorous as the soldiers attempted to slow the egress of the attackers. They'd started in the throne room and were boldly advancing now towards the castle gates, yet had taken several perplexing detours along the way. It seemed the attacker was Prince Wales, somehow returned from the dead with unholy powers, and a cadre of undead monstrosities that apparently defied description.

Earth-Earth; Flesh of Bronze. He cast as he ran and felt the _weight_ settle into his muscles. Air-Air; Wind Enhancement. The burst of speed negated the slight stiffness to his body and sent him hurtling forward even faster. Fire-Fire; Burning Heart. Now his muscles bulged and bunched up as a warmth settled into his chest. With the addition of his Bronze Body spell he could push the extra muscular enhancement to the limit.

Others were heading through the halls; trying to set up barricades or even collapse corridors to keep the invaders inside. Guiche was not. Lessons from Kenneth and Saito both had been burned into his skull. They'd taken a strange route to leave and were making a massive commotion as they did so. Which meant that they wanted everyone to know where they were.

He came out onto a battlement but didn't cast Levitation on himself; fighting while flying wasn't something he'd practiced enough to feel comfortable with that and cancelling the spell would be finicky at best mid-fight. Derf didn't follow him directly; he leapt up on to the rooftops while his friend jumped down instead. Splitting up was a calculated risk, but an important one. He didn't have to win here, merely buy enough time for word of the chaos to spread to his familiar.

The young Gramont scrambled over the roof and slid down the other side; dropping into a smaller rear courtyard that lead to the Royal Stables. He hit the ground with a thunderous impact that even he felt through his protective spells but was within the limits he'd practiced for. Cobblestones cracked and splintered underneath him and caused the three figures on the far side of the courtyard to pause and turn around.

Two monsters holding the Princess Henrietta limply between them, and one well-dressed young blond man with bloodstains marring his otherwise lovely clothes. Guiche smirked and straightened up; drawing his white-bladed sword and trying not to think about how _incredibly cool_ that must have looked. The young man, who must have been the Prince, casually twirled a longsword that looked like black glass with ease that belied its weight.

"Prince Wales, I presume! I'm afraid I must ask you to immediately surrender and release the Princess." That seemed to amuse the Prince because he chuckled first, and then reared back with a laugh that seemed it would have been more at home coming from an asylum resident. When he looked back down it was with an expression of smug contempt.

"Apologies, young man, but I have no time for you." He flicked his sword up, black flames pouring off of it in a line and surging towards Guiche. There was no way for him to see the Prince's expression when the Aurora Requiem burst into life; a pillar of cold white negating the unholy inferno heading towards him. Yet when he stepped forward he was able to gain satisfaction enough from the look of utter shock on the revenant's face.

Guiche flicked his sword through the aura of his cloak and it came out of it burning pale. Then he raised it to point imperiously at his gobsmacked opponent. "I say again, 'Prince'. Surrender. You have met your match."

Wales' face twisted into a mask of hatred as he chose to decline Guiche's polite request by launching himself forward to attack.


End file.
